#he shortly thereafter sends me a question mark

[onlineufo]

men attempting to pursue me is such a turn off

[brooklynislandgirl]

Wrath: Something that gets me angry. From miss spice.

Shackled to the Shadow || Accepting It has been some time since Nilza has been an outsider. The Sept Warder has ceased sending any of the packs to harry her, to watch her constantly from the outskirts as she pays visits to the little kinfolk. Still, she holds even less status amongst the Sept than even Beth does. Beth has tried in the past to explain the draconian nature of being part of Garou society, only to get flustered and defensive when questions are posed. Tonight, things are different. It all began when they were woken in the middle of the night by one of the other kinfolk women. Belly swollen with growing life, the woman was dressed in flannel and hand-me-down jeans. Bloody rents that were unmistakable claw marks bled heavily down her back, and her lip was busted, an eye blackened shut. It is one of the few times that Beth allows anyone to see her skills on full display, a staggering amount of raging hubris making her defy the very delicate nature of reality itself. There's no poultices or root-work. No tinctures, salves, bandages. Face a mask of cold ire that is never directed at the woman, Beth draws sigils in the blood already shed. Thereafter flesh begins to knit itself back together. The woman's pallor becomes the flush of youthful life once more and the unimaginable agony is gone in a twinkling. A tall woman appears shortly after, with other mountain women in tow. Beth bows to her deeply, and she gives a grim nod of her head. The women do not concern themselves with Beth or Nilza but instead, once Beth confirms the mother-to-be is healed and the child perfectly unharmed, they drape her in what looks like a bear pelt, the smooth leather side inscribed with sigils. They usher her away. White knuckled and still furious, Beth turns toward her lover. "Do me a favour, please?" she asks through grit teeth. "Put some more wood in the fire, an' set the kettle on? We're gonna have more comp'ny tonight." How she knows this doesn't matter. Not when she goes over to their bed, passing Saph on the way and petting her square grey head to ease the dog's nerves. Kneeling, Beth searches under the bed as far as her body naturally bends, then a little deeper still. If Nilza looks-looks, then she'd notice an unnatural shift of limb. While Beth does not walk as wolf and woman like her cousins do, she does possess a gift for changing her body when needs be. From the far side of the bed, and with what seems like a great effort, she retrieves an object. It is nearly nine feet in length ~another impossibility~ and appears quite heavy. It is slender though, wrapped in layers of oiled cloth and bound in leather with little bone charms attached to the ends. Reverently, Beth carries the unwieldy package to her table and sets it down with an incredible reverence. The wind outside dies down and the shadows of the cabin shrink away, as if they too can sense an aura from the bound cloth. She sits beside it and stares at the door. Her voice seethes in the back of her throat and her words are bitter vitriol.

"We follow the ancient laws as they were given to us, howl-to-tongue an' back again. An' while Becky's man isn't part of this Sept, we took him in as one. I'm not no scholar, heck, I ain't even one of Grandmother's chosen an' even I know he broke them laws t'night. "Respect th' territory of another. Respect them that's lower in station, for all are of Gaia. Do not suffer thy people to tend thy sickness. Ye shall take no action that causes a Caern t' be violated. Now some of th' Elders might not see it that way? But me? I ain't gonna 'bide this." Beth practically shakes with that burning rage now. She nods toward the door for a moment and begins to occupy her hands with the item's unwrapping. "They'll take her by moon-bridge to one of the other Septs. Prolly Moon's Blessin' given it was Akasia that came an' got her, or maybe Mountain Watch cause it's closer, less stressful on Becky an' her pup." When she is done, the item is revealed. A gorgeous oak wood staff ancient as maybe the mountains themselves, polished by the many hands that have held it through the aeons. The nearly six feet of wood is topped with a broad blade that thins to a needle-sharp point of gleaming silver etched with a half-dozen symbols that seem to turn up a lot in these hills, glyphs of power and mysticism, a language all their own, but each one looks like a series of claw-marks. "Now, I ain't gonna be allowed t' take up for her, but John'll be my proxy. An' he'll challenge Becky's man to a duel, but he'll have Cumha Léanmhar t' carry with him." She flicks a dark gaze toward Nilza. "This. This is the reason I speak wi' as much weight as I can."

[hex-obsession]

Silver Lining- Three

word count- 2,389

content warning- language, sexual acts (potentially rough)

____________________________________________

Nothing like getting pulled out of a deep sleep to go repair bulky, strident machinery and run, literally, for your life. You were, physically and mentally, in a fog. Worn out from the emotional runaround mere hours ago, you weren’t your usual bubbly self. To make matters worse, Leon was here and saw the discomfort on your face. Who wouldn’t? You were always bad at masking your feelings.

“Everything okay y/n?” Chills trickled through your ears and down the back of your neck at the soothing hum of his voice. It was too early for this, but at least you were fully awake now.

“Y-yeah, just tired.” Your hand defensively moves to your other arm, sending him the opposite message of ‘I���m fine’. Leon tenderly places his hand over yours, ducking slightly to be eye level with you. Instead of speaking, you just stare back at him blankly. Mind racing yet empty, you're completely lost for words. You forgot how to even speak, let alone move your tongue. Finally, your sense of self-preservation kicks in and you blurt out “I’m fine, really. Just in a haze, I guess. Really tired.” You force a smile, praying he buys it, or at least takes it as a hint not to pry. He’s still staring at you, studying your face and body language. This man was far too perceptive to fall for a lie that poorly executed. Not wanting to interrogate you and possibly upset you further, he let it go. His face relaxed, the puzzled, disapproving expression now replaced by one of empathy and concern.

“If there’s something on your mind, please tell me when you’re ready.” He extends his other arm and gently pulls you toward him, which you do not resist. You sheepishly wrap your arms around him, worried he might feel the pounding in your chest and return to questioning you. You couldn’t help but melt in his arms, which did help calm your nerves some. Consoling each other (let’s be real, it was always him consoling you) was no new feat. His uniform was rough on your cheek, a mix of harsh fabric and dried blood, but you didn’t mind. With your head turned, resting on his chest, you saw Jeff and Laurie coming closer. As much as you wanted to stay in this exact spot forever, you were grateful to direct Leon’s attention to anything other than you long enough to compose yourself. Hands eager to touch him longer, you lovingly rub his back and give his sides a little squeeze before releasing him.

“Sorry, hope we didn’t interrupt anything,” Laurie chimes innocently.

Cheeks ablaze, you jump to defend yourself. “No you’re fine! I’m just feeling a tad under the weather and Leon is a great friend.” You smile, eyes darting back to him only long enough to see he’s staring at you. Fuck, fuck, your face was on fire. Back on Laurie, she ever so slightly squints, so quickly you would’ve missed it if you weren’t excruciatingly observant. Her lips curl at the edges. She knows. You look back to Leon, who is still staring at you. Shit, fuck. You look to your left trying to avoid everyone's gaze. Her dainty hands latch onto you, pulling you into a hug. You stumble slightly, intoxicated by nervousness.

“Oh, sorry love.” She tilts her head back just enough for her mouth to line up with your ear. “Do it.” Her voice is heavy and breathy. It almost startles you, and a nervous chuckle escapes you.

“Th-thanks Laurie. Yeah, I just had a weird dream and I’m feeling really, uh, off.”

Heart racing, you thought it might be trying to escape, the force with which it was beating. You push your hair away from your face, hoping it would make breathing less labored when, you only made it easier to see how flustered you were. A final glance at Leon confirms he is indeed still staring. You’d never been thankful for the entity taking you before, but there’s a first time for everything. The fog surrounds you and the trial ensues, scattering you across the map. Completely disregarding everything other than your feelings, you shake your head and stretch your arms above you. They come down, folding around your head and you stare at the lockers in front of you, eyes out of focus; not actually taking in what you were looking at. A few deep breaths later, you pull yourself together enough to move your feet, one in front of the other. Midwich Elementary School; possibly your favorite of all the entity’s destinations. You recognized your surroundings. This was the locker room. Leaving the second floor was your first goal. As you entered the hallway, a bright light flickered in your face. At the end of the hall, Jeff pointed to the room to his right. You jogged over to him, said brief hellos, and knelt down to work on the repairs together. Shortly thereafter, with little remaining progress, a faint heartbeat echoed in your ears. You peered around the broken wall; no sign of the killer. The generator dings to life and you decide to split up to cover more ground. Jeff drops through a hole in the bathroom across the hall, leading you to divert from your original plan and head toward the other upstairs classrooms. As you near the stairwell, your heartrate increases. Not from the unbearable sexual tension you had for Leon, but the killer was close. You see nothing down the hall to your left, which meant the killer was below you. You sprint ahead, trying to make as little noise as possible. To your dismay, you were detected. Feet heavy on the ground, your footsteps echoed around you. You tripped on something but were far too agile to lose your balance, and never fell. Before rounding the corner, you look behind you to see what terror you were up against this time. A human figure with a red stain; the Legion. Extremely misleading the first time you ran into them. Extremely. You dart left, breaking line of sight. The chemistry lab is your best bet. Dropping through the floor will most likely get him off your trail. To prevent leaving scratch marks, you slow to a brisk walk. Just as you thought you would evade the killer, something grabs you and you lurch backward. Before you could scream, a hand covers your mouth. Leon spins you around to face him and pulls you close. The two of you are pressed tightly together between lockers and a wall. Heart racing, for multiple reasons, you stare at the small space where the floor is visible. Confused, the red light was bouncing around, taunting you. All that was on your mind was the heat radiating from all the areas your bodies were touching. The sudden realization that Leon had his arms around you, protecting you, made you jerk your head back to look at him. His eyes, normally brooding, were instead intently locked onto you with, was that, adoration? You didn’t want to get the wrong idea, or make assumptions rooted in your own feelings. A gen on the other side of the school is completed, and you see the Legion vault a window into the courtyard, leaving the two of you alone in the hall. Although the killer was nowhere near you, your heart was racing, painfully. You were agonizingly aware of the recurring flush that filled your face. You couldn’t bring yourself to look him in the eyes, so you focused on his neck instead. So smooth and inviting. Every fiber of your being wanted to kiss it and bite it and moan his name into it. Your legs felt as if they would give way beneath you at any moment. You straightened your back to put more pressure on the wall behind you, allowing you to bend your legs slightly to prevent them from buckling under you. He had put himself slightly to your left as to

make sure he could block you from any attacks, if need be. If either of you moved forward so much as an inch, your legs would begin lacing together. Noticing how close your hips were to his sent a rush of heat to your crotch. Sick with suspense, you finally force yourself to look up. Before meeting his eyes, you analyze his lips. You craved them on your own. Your tongue on his; tasting each other.

“Y/n…” You’d never been turned on by your own name before. It was less your name and more the way it eased out of his mouth. Longing, impatient. Watching his lips emit your name made you crazed. You bit your bottom lip, wishing it were him biting it instead. Almost gasping for air, you take a deep breath and look into his eyes. Chills breeze over your body like a crisp fall evening. Muscles so weak you could barely move, you ease your hands around his waist, locking your fingers behind him. Your desire for him was borderline primitive at this point. If given the chance to pull him into one of the classrooms and fuck him right there on one of the desks, you’d take it without contemplation. Hell, you might initiate it in a second. Your pussy was throbbing, begging for him. You shifted your legs again, intertwining them completely. The pressure of his thigh on your clit sent electric chills through your legs to your toes. A short, pleased sigh escaping you drew his attention. His head eased forward slowly, sealing the distance between the two of you. His nose grazed yours and you gently nudged into it. You were panting in his face, which you would come to feel embarrassed about later. He continued forward until you felt his lips brush against yours. It tickled in the most satisfying way possible, like a flower against velvet.

“Yes,” you whispered against his lips, and just like that, every worry or care in the world vanished.

Softly, he pressed his lips to yours. It was electric to say the bare minimum. You took a staggered breath causing him to pull away. Your eyes shot open, darting wildly between his facial features, searching for any indication of regret. Instead, he places a hand on your cheek and pulls you into him. This time your lips met, they were ravenous. You suck his bottom lip into your mouth and bite down. Not enough to cause damage, but enough to cause him to let out a low rumbling moan into your mouth which sent you over the edge. Your non-dominant hand leaves his back and latches onto his gorgeous blonde hair. It was so soft in your fingers, like silk. You tilted your head and ran your tongue across the lip you still had trapped between your teeth. You released it which allowed Leon to open his mouth against yours and slide his tongue inside. Oh God, he tasted better than you’d imagined. Fleshy yet almost sweet, like the faintest hint of cinnamon. Your head was spinning and you felt light-headed from the stimulation (and the fact there was a good amount of blood in the lower half of your body). You were fixated on the fact that his saliva was in your mouth. You’d end up swallowing it, and vice versa. Your grip on his hair tightened and you let out a faint whimper. The combination made him growl with pleasure. His hands roamed your body briefly, coming to a stop at your waist. Seemingly effortlessly, he bent forward slightly, just enough to put his hands directly under your ass and prop you up against the wall, tongues still tangled. You wrapped your legs around him, wanting him to be even closer. You wanted, needed, him inside you. Given the new position, you could feel his engorged cock between your legs. You were almost- almost- concerned by the size of it. From what you could feel, he was well endowed. The hand on his back lowered to his ass cheek, which you graciously squeezed. You pulled him forward into you, just slightly at first, increasing the pressure of his bulge on you. You released and did it again. In any normal situation, you’d have never made a grown, fully clothed man grind on you like a horny pubescent boy, but these feelings for him had been pent up so long that they mutated from a sweet crush to full blown irrefutable lust. He caught on to what you were doing and abruptly removed his tongue from your mouth, leaving you confused and wanting all the more. His left hand came up to your chin and turned your head to the side, allowing him to press his lips to your ear.

Barely above a whisper, just a susurration, “You want me that bad, huh?” he taunted you. You were incapable of feeling embarrassment at the moment, brain flooded with desire. The warmth of his breath in your ear made you salivate. In a different setting, you would have begged to choke on his dick right now.

“Yeah? So what?” was the best retaliation you could think of in the moment. He chuckled; lips still pressed to your ear. The hand on your cheek traced your jaw and slid down to your neck. His slender, graceful fingers wrapped around your throat and gave it an intoxicating squeeze. Just hard enough to make you gasp but not hurt.

“I want to hear you beg for me,” his deep, warm voice filling your ear.

Your eyes shut and you tilt your head back in utter bliss, letting out a satisfied moan. He responded by nibbling your earlobe, which made you curse delightedly under your breath. Wanting to look at his irresistible face, you opened your eyes. Only, instead, you were greeted by eight beady black eyes peering down at you.

Snapping out of your drunken state, you blurt, “Oh fuck, Leon, the birds.”

He looks up to them with resentment and lets out a frustrated sigh. “Can we pick this up again later?” Ocean eyes begging you.

“You bet your fucking ass we’re picking this up later,” you demand before crashing your lips into his once more. “Now let’s get the fuck out of here before the whole flock follows us.”

____________________________________________

Silver Lining masterlist

[robininthelabyrinth]

Prompt for "Close" or "Reforged": NMJ & Baxia goes to the Nie tombs to accompany someone. The spirits sensed a saberspeak translator FINALLY exists and traps them. Everyone thought the place hostile, but the sabers just want NMJ listen to their ramblings/demands/complaints/lectures... and also to do something about that "basketcase" saber spirit sealed further in. They're sick of listening to it! Do something, Nie descendant!

ao3

“Tell me something about yourself,” Lan Xichen said one day when he was a teenager, lying on his back in a field in the Cloud Recesses with his best friend in the whole world, excluding family. “Something secret.”

Nie Mingjue, lying beside him, hummed for a moment, thinking about it. “When I was a kid – about Wangji’s age now – I got stabbed in the stomach during a fight,” he said eventually. “Everyone thought I was going to die, and I mean they really thought it, but then I didn’t.”

“Wow,” Lan Xichen said, having meant something more along the lines of ‘a girl let me touch her chest behind the garden shed once’. “Everyone must have been very glad you were all right.”

“Mostly,” Nie Mingjue said, his voice and gaze distant. “Once they let me out.”

“Of your sickbed?”

Nie Mingjue blinked and shook his head as if to wake up. “Enough about me,” he said. “What about you? What’s your secret? Is it about that He sect girl and the shed again?”

“It was not,” Lan Xichen insisted, even though it totally had been. He was very proud of it. “I wasn’t thinking of anything in particular!”

-

When Nie Mingjue told Lan Xichen about his family’s curse, he didn’t actually tell him directly.

He brought him to a room, with tea and food set out, had him sit, and then vanished, sending Nie Zonghui to tell him instead. It was horrifying, of course, but in the same manner as the whole war they’d just endured had been horrifying – nothing that would make Nie Mingjue blush.

“Why didn’t he just tell me himself?” Lan Xichen asked, mostly because he couldn’t really be upset at Nie Mingjue for being in the process of slowly dying, even if that’s what he really wanted. “Did he think I wouldn’t be able to stand it or something?”

“Or something,” Nie Zonghui said. “It’s not about you, Zewu-jun. It’s about him.”

Lan Xichen frowned. “What do you mean?”

“It’s a sensitive subject for him,” Nie Zonghui said. “Especially the saber tombs – and after what happened when he was younger, I can’t really blame him.”

“When he was younger? What happened?”

“Did he never say? He said that he’d already told you: when he was young – eight or nine, I think – he was in a fight, and got stabbed…”

“Oh, yes, that,” Lan Xichen said. “I know about that…what does that have to do with cultivation?”

“It was his first fight carrying Baxia,” Nie Zonghui explained. “She wasn’t even fully forged, but he grabbed her out of the smithy and wielded her against those invaders.”

Nie Mingjue had not said anything about invaders.

“He saved the lives of several other children,” Nie Zonghui continued, and Nie Mingjue hadn’t said anything about that, either. “Shed his first blood on his blade – even took his first life, all the things that function as a marker of adulthood. Defeat evil, rescue the innocent, all that. So when they thought he was going to die, they decided to give him the honors of an adult.”

For some reason, that made something sink in Lan Xichen’s stomach.

“When you say honors…” he started.

“He was taken to the saber tombs,” Nie Zonghui said. “To die as his honored ancestors had.”

They must have been very sure that he would not live.

“But he didn’t die,” Lan Xichen said, and Nie Zonghui hesitated. “What are you not telling me?”

“Sect Leader Nie was left there to die alone, as is customary,” Nie Zonghui said. “When they returned after three days to collect his body for cremation, they found him still breathing, much to everyone’s surprise…after, there were rumors that he had died.”

“What? How? He’s walking around even now.”

“They thought he had been possessed,” Nie Zonghui explained. “By one of the saber spirits. It caused some trouble, later. Anyway, ever since then, he doesn’t talk about it directly – and nor should you.”

“But –”

“I think that’s enough of an explanation for now,” Nie Zonghui said firmly, and no matter how Lan Xichen entreated him, he said no more.

-

“Oh, sure, we have plenty of stories about saber spirit possession,” Nie Huaisang said when Lan Xichen asked in a roundabout fashion. “All sorts! I grew up on them, naturally. Temporary, permanent, through birth or misadventure – that one story about the generation of Nie women where everyone was female, whether born or misaligned –”

That did sound somewhat interesting, actually, but not exactly what Lan Xichen was looking for at the moment.

“What happens in cases of possession?” he asked, pretending to be casual. “You know, if someone thinks someone else is possessed – speaking generally, of course?”

“Generally?” Nie Huaisang frowned and tapped his fan against his lips. “I mean, in the case of temporary possession, you usually try to exorcise the spirit – usually through traditional means, like arrays or talismans or incantations, but sometimes if you think they’re trying to steal a human life permanently, through discomfort.”

“Discomfort?”

“Oh, you know. Excess exercise, denying food, hurting them. Show them that they’d rather not be human after all, that sort of thing.”

“…what if they’re wrong about the possession?” Lan Xichen asked, a cold chill going down his spine.

Nie Huaisang shrugged. “It’s supposed to be pretty obvious? Someone who has the strength of a guai instead of a human, who refuses to die when a normal person would, someone rigid and unyielding with barely any flexibility – more metal than human – unusually angry, full of bloodlust and an unquenchable desire to destroy evil –”

“That could describe your whole family tree, Huaisang,” Lan Xichen said. That could describe your brother.

“Sabers reflect their masters,” Nie Huaisang said cheerfully. “So it makes sense that it would, doesn’t it?”

“But –”

“Oh, don’t fuss, er-ge! I’m sure the elders wouldn’t just go around assuming someone’s secretly a saber for no reason,” Nie Huaisang said. “Now, let me tell you about the generation of women story – it’s one of my favorites –”

-

“Da-ge refused to let me play for him again,” Jin Guangyao commented, and Lan Xichen frowned.

He wasn’t an idiot – he knew how bad the relationship between his two sworn brothers was – but although he’d hoped that this would help repair some aspects of that, his primary goal with the Song of Clarity was to improve Nie Mingjue’s health.

(Sabers could suffer from qi deviations, too. Not that Nie Mingjue was possessed by a saber or anything.)

“Did he say why?” Lan Xichen asked.

“He was busy this week,” Jin Guangyao said mournfully. “Visiting his family tombs, apparently.”

Lan Xichen blinked. “The – Nie family tombs?”

Jin Guangyao had been speaking casually, clearly thinking of it as some excuse meant to fob him off, but perhaps there was something about Lan Xichen’s face that caught his interest. “Yes, he said there was some issue there that he had to deal with personally. Is there something the matter with that?”

“No,” Lan Xichen said, and then frowned. “At least, I don’t think so? I’ll speak with him about not skipping more sessions, A-Yao; don’t worry.”

He excused himself shortly thereafter and went to Qinghe on the first possible excuse.

“Where’s your sect leader?” he asked one of the guards.

Their frozen expression said everything he needed to know.

-

“Xichen?” Nie Mingjue said, blinking at him. “Is that you?”

“No, it’s Wangji,” Lan Xichen said. “Of course it’s me!”

“I meant that more in the ‘what are you doing in my family tombs’ sense,” Nie Mingjue said.

Lan Xichen allowed that that was a fair question. A better one, however…

“What are you doing in your family’s tombs?” he asked, crossing his arms over his chest. “If the Song of Clarity isn’t working, we can try something else!”

“Xichen –”

“It is far, far too early for you to even think of coming down here –”

“Xichen –”

“And may I say, that’s a barbaric tradition anyway, I don’t care if your ancestors did it, locking up a child is just –”

“Xichen.”

Lan Xichen stopped.

Nie Mingjue was rubbing the back of his head, and his cheeks were red. “I heard a rumor that one of the old masterless sabers got loose,” he said. “I was just checking it out. I wasn’t coming here to – to reside.”

“…oh,” Lan Xichen said, and felt rather stupid. And then, trying to change the subject, he said, “How’d you hear about the saber getting loose? I thought no one came here unless there was a death.”

“Oh, the sabers told me,” Nie Mingjue said.

“Oh, I guess…wait. What?”

-

“So you…hear them,” Lan Xichen said. They were seated on the foot of one of the statues guarding the tombs, which was a bit rude but Nie Mingjue didn’t seem to mind and they were, after all, his ancestors. “The saber spirits.”

“Since I was child, yes,” Nie Mingjue confirmed.

“And you don’t think this is – odd?”

Nie Mingjue shrugged. “They gave me spiritual energy so that I could survive. It left a mark, I think.”

Lan Xichen nodded.

He tried to figure out how to phrase his next question.

“I’m fairly certain I am not a saber spirit possessing a human corpse.”

“Oh, good,” Lan Xichen sighed. “I had no idea how to ask.”

Nie Mingjue knocked their shoulders together. “You can always just ask. I’m your friend. Corpse or not.”

“Please don’t make jokes about that,” Lan Xichen said mournfully, even if it was a little funny. “I’d miss you if you were a corpse.”

“Well, depending on the state of the corpse…”

Lan Xichen snickered, even though he really didn’t mean to. It wasn’t actually funny.

-

“So is it just sabers?”

“Not always. Why? You want to know what Shuoyue thinks of you?”

Lan Xichen stared at him. “Can you?”

“Either directly or indirectly,” Nie Mingjue said. “Even if the weapon doesn’t want to talk to me directly, they usually don’t have a choice when Baxia is pushing them.”

“…do swords have a lot to say?”

“Not as much as saber spirits. But more than you might think.”

“What does she think of me, then?”

“She likes you. You’re good to her. Except when you wield her overhead because you keep tensing a muscle in your back that makes the strike a little wonky, so she’d prefer you stick with forward thrusts or low cuts until you get that fixed.”

Lan Xichen started laughing.

-

“If I die outside, make sure I’m brought here,” Nie Mingjue said. “I think I’d enjoy the company.”

“I’ll make sure of it,” Lan Xichen promised, and he meant it, too. “I promise.”

[libra-kirishima]

Mirio and his wife(he dead ass proposed to y/n at UA graduation) How would Mirio’s dad react to being told he’s going to be a grandpa? I wanna get a cavity from the Fluffy sweet content.Oh oh oh and what if they did the headphone challenge where they tell him word for word while listening to music at a high volume.💕🌸😫✨🌿💜 PLSSS

I'm so glad we all agree that Mirio gets married straight out of high school.

When Mirio proposed to you just seconds after you both graduated, it was assumed by almost all of your classmates that it was because you were pregnant. Only Tamaki knew that Mirio had been saving the money from his work-study to buy you a nice engagement ring since your first date. It was only Tamaki who knew that he purchased that ring almost a year ago and had been hiding it in his sock drawer waiting for the right moment. It was also only Tamaki who knew Mirio wanted to propose at the graduation ceremony.

And he did. The very moment after you both launched your graduation caps into the air, he reached under his robe to pull the ring box from his slacks while you weren't looking. The surprised look on your face when you turned back to him was something Mirio plays back in his head every day. You turned to ask him if he'd want to come back to your dorm after the ceremony, and your eyes were met not with the chest of your boyfriend as you'd expected, but a brilliant ring in a velvet box that you absolutely adored. The tears began to flow before he could even finish his speech about how much he loved you, and couldn't wait to spend the rest of his life loving you.

Fittingly, only Tamaki knew that this wasn't a shotgun wedding, brought on by Mirio unexpectedly getting you pregnant. Though the two of you were completely unaware of this wide held assumption. It took Mirio's father asking when the baby was due to finally dawn on the two of you, several months after the wedding, that most people assumed the marriage was brought on by a baby coming. It was that evening that you and Mirio sat down together and made the decision to wait at least until you were both 25 to think about starting a family.

The positive pregnancy test in your hands at 19 was hardly unexpected, but still a huge surprise. You and he had both been so busy that you had gotten sloppy with your birth control, and the moment you both had an overlapping day off you made the most of it.

"Making the most of it' is such an understatement." You muttered to yourself. "We certainly made something." Though as panicked as you were, when you told your husband the news he was overjoyed. Before you could even finish your sentence, he was lifting you up by your waist and spinning you around. All the stress in you melted away as you saw the excitement in his eyes at the thought of him being a father.

"-We'll have to move to make room for the baby. And I guess that gives us the chance to think about what school we want to send them to and how their school schedule will fit in with our work schedules. I don't want you to put too much stress on yourself so maybe Tamaki will help us. I bet he'll be excited to find out. What color should the nursery be? I don't know if you want to decide that before or after we know the sex of the baby. Is it sexist to color a nursery based on the baby's gender? What about purple or yellow? Oh, or maybe green or orange! What do you want to name them? Is it too early to start thinking about that? And how are we gonna tell our families?" Mirio's rambling stops after that final question and his eyes widen. "Oh my god how are we gonna tell my dad!?"

"Do you think he'll take it poorly?"

"No he seemed really excited last year when he thought you were pregnant."

"Then there's nothing to worry about." You reassured him, prompting him to have a seat. He followed your suggestion and sat himself on one of your dining room chairs. You wrapped your arms around his shoulders from behind and placed a soft kiss to his cheek.

It was four days later that he came up with the idea. Deciding to take a break from looking for a place with two bedrooms, you busied yourself with something else as he aimlessly scrolled through social media.

"That's it!!!" You heard him shout from your place in the kitchen.

"Did you find a place you liked?" You shouted back. He burst into the kitchen to join you.

"No, even better!" He answered, padding over to you with excitement in each step.

"You decided what color you wanted the nursery to be?"

"No, but I have a really strong feeling that it's a boy and I think we should go with blue and yellow."

"And what if it's a girl?" You asked with a small giggle. He froze and allowed himself to think it over.

"Blue is a gender neutral color." He finally responded. You muttered a soft 'good answer', but it was lost as he continued with "But I swear that it'll be a boy. Didn't you say something about a cancer's intuition?"

"Hey that's serious stuff. Don't joke about that." You argued.

"Exactly!" He insisted. "Wait what did I come in here for?" You shrugged your shoulders, which prompted him to leave the kitchen and return to the living room. Shortly thereafter he returned to the exact spot he stood in the kitchen, lost in thought. You could tell he was retracing his steps. "-so then I got excited and came to talk to (y/n) and she asked if I decided what color I wanted the nursery to be- Oh! I can just check my phone!" You laughed to yourself as he pulled out his phone to resume scrolling. He found what he was looking for and brought it over to show you.

A video of an older couple wearing headphones blasting loud music. They were being told by their daughter that they were going to be grandparents, and you watched as they tried to piece together what they were being told. Once the father figured it out, he leaped out of his seat with joy.

"So that's what you want to do with your dad?"

"Yes, please." He answered. "Next week?"

"No." You answered, pointing your finger at him. He pouted at your response, which you elected to disregard. "You will wait until the second trimester and you will like it."

"You can make me wait until the second trimester, but you can't make me like it." He answered. Crossing your arms, you raised one brow at him with a sharp glare. "Fine, I'll like it!" He sighed, causing you to grin.

To Mirio, the first trimester went at a snail's pace. He was eager to meet his baby boy and even more so to tell others about him. He wanted so desperately for these 40 weeks to be over. At the five month mark, he couldn't drive you to your doctor's office fast enough. Not even trying to hide the eagerness in finding out the sex of the baby.

"I told you he was gonna be a boy!" Mirio told you excitedly as you walked back to your car. "See, Cancer intuition!" You laughed at his enthusiasm over correctly guessing the sex of your baby.

"I think that was just wishful thinking." You joked. "You didn't do anything."

"No, I'm definitely psychic."

"Okay then Mister-Psychic-Intuition. Will he be a Virgo or a Libra?"

He tapped his chin as he thought over your question. You knew he wasn't as into this stuff as you were, but he still devoted a lot of effort into his prediction.

"I think he'll be a Leo." He answered as he drove out of the parking lot.

"Do you want to go tell your dad now?" You asked. His eyes lit up at the sound of your question and immediately changed course to his dad's house. "Great!"

Mirio didn't even knock and wait to be let in. He saw the light on, noted that his father was home, and used his key to let the two of you in as quickly as possible.

"Dad!" He called from the doorframe. In all his excitement, he nearly forgot to remove his shoes. Mirio's dad scrambled to his feet from where he was sitting on the couch, believing that his son was in some kind of danger. "No sit back down, we're going to play a game."

"Are you okay?" He asked.

"I'm fine, don't worry. But sit down, it's game time."

He sat down, but remained both concerned and confused as his son sat across from him, prompting you to do the same.

"How are you?" You asked him.

"Just fine, thank you (Y/N). How about yourself?"

"I'm great, thank you. Do you have any exciting plans for this weekend?"

"Not really. I have errands to run but nothing else on the agenda. What about yourse-"

"I FOUND THEM!" Mirio shouts from upstairs. You hardly thought to ask where he had gone to, instead making polite conversation with his father. Your husband barrelled down the stairs a moment later, triumphantly holding up his old headphones from when he was in high school. "I thought I left them here!" Mirio wastes no time in running him through the rules of the whisper challenge and putting the headphones over his ears with music playing loud enough to block out what you were saying. Mirio looked at you then back at him with a big smile. He and his dad flashed each other a thumbs up.

"Can you hear me?" You asked. No response. "Okay good start." You then turned to Mirio. "Can I film this?" You asked, although you didn't wait for an answer before you pulled your phone out and opened the camera.

"You're going to be a grandparent." Mirio stated, doing his best to annunciate every syllable.

"Do you want spinach?" His dad guessed. Mirio shook his head.

"You're going to be a grandparent." You echoed.

"Shorts? Do you want to wear shorts?"

"You are going to be a grandfather."

"You want me to what?"

Your husband shook his head and decided to take over.

"You are" Mirio stated.

"You are" His dad repeated. You both nodded encouragingly.

"Going"

"Going"

You both nodded again.

"To be"

"Crazy! You are going crazy." He guessed. Mirio sighed and shook his head.

"You are going to"

"To! You are going to!"

"Be a"

"Be! You are going to be."

"A grandfather." Mirio finished.

"A- a grandfather! You are going to be a grandfather!" You both nodded excitedly. He repeated to himself. "You are going to be a grandfather. You are- I'm going to be a grandfather?" He pulled the headphones off his ears. "I'm going to be a grandfather?"

"You're going to be a grandfather!" Mirio repeated excitedly. You pulled the ultrasound photos from your jacket pocket and handed them to his dad. "In a few months you get to meet your grandson!" He added, voice shaky from holding back tears.

"You're kidding me!" His dad added, holding back tears of his own. "You're not kidding?" You shook your head. He stood up and engulfed you both in a hug, no longer trying to hold back his tears.

"I'm due somewhere between September 13th and September 22nd."

"Although I think the baby will come a couple weeks early." Mirio added with a soft smile.

And just as he predicted earlier that day, he was right.

[queenaeducan-writes]

Apodyopsis

Pairing: Solas x Lavellan Fandom: Dragon Age: Inquisition Rating: Mature Warnings: Suggestive

Apodyopsis: the act of mentally undressing someone. Solas finds himself hoping something more will come of tonight, but knows his desires are not the only ones which count. 

Canon divergent, featuring a non-Inquisitor Lavellan and a universe where Solas revealed the secret he had meant to that evening in the grove. Originally written for a meme prompt.

Read it on AO3 here!

Minutes pass in the span of a sigh, the passage of time unimpeded by their tryst. This world is apathetic to their affection, the stone floor beneath their feet the same as it was when they awoke that morning. Solas reminds himself of this in the gap between their kisses, centers himself in reality before he loses himself in Ian’s. They stand toe-to-toe in the center of the room– their room. The sun has set, their surroundings lit by candles that had gasped to life when he wasn’t looking. Everything is cast in warm colours, a halo glows around the crown of Ian’s head, through the wispy ends of his hair. When their eyes meet, he smiles, and the laugh lines around his eyes smile with him.

“You’re staring,” Ian says with a breathy giggle, his eyes fluttering toward the corner of the room before they return to him.

“Am I?”

Solas finds himself drifting, head bowing to brush Ian’s. He still smells of Skyhold’s gardens, of elfroot and sweet alyssum, and though the sun had long since dipped below the horizon, Ian’s scent carries its memory. Hands cup the back of his neck and pull him the rest of the way down, parted lips there to greet him. He sinks against him, forcing back the urge to smile at how eager Ian is to slip his tongue between his teeth. It is not always he is so daring, though it has been more often, of late. Perhaps Ian had at last noticed how his blood runs hotter, his whole body flushed pink. He strains against the fingers at the nape of his neck, just to feel them resist, drawing him deeper.

Their kiss breaks with two quiet gasps. The next is placed at the corner of his lip, a taste of where Ian’s affection may wander. Then, his jaw, then Ian sways forward on his toes to reach beneath the lobe of his ear. He giggles and sways forward, laughter tickling his neck, daring him to laugh. His mouth draws a thin line, hands moving to check his sides before Ian falls forward. Undeterred, the gentle lips at his neck turn to teeth, unafraid to pull.

The thumb at Ian’s waist slips beneath his shirt, stroking the outline of his hipbone. He shivers under it, pleasure warm against Solas’ throat. He contents himself a while with teasing forays just over his waistband, blindly exploring while Ian peppers his neck with nips that may bloom into purple flowers the next morning. Fingertips ghost over the fine trail of hair that grows up from below his waist, refamiliarising himself with the way Ian feels to the touch, without his eyes to aid him.

But Ian’s confidence is contagious, and inspires bold action. Fingers curl around the uneven hem of his shirt, the intention clear, but difficult to protest without words to couple with. He tucks his lips beside Ian’s ear, brushing the tip before he poses his question: “May I?”

Ian goes tense beneath his palms, though it isn’t the same as a moment ago. Gone are the short, breathy sighs, the tension that begs to be released, succeeded by a sharp intake of breath that finds no relief. “Solas–” he lets out half of it, speaking his name as if it were an apology. “I, ahn, I…” Solas waits, ears pushed forward to catch even the softest of refusals. “I’m–”

It is as close to ‘no’ as he fears he will get this evening, boldness fleeing from Ian. He drops his hand to his hips, smoothing down the wrinkled ends of his top. Once he may not have recognised it for what it was, now it is stark as night and day. “Say no more,” he says, straining a reassuring smile for Ian’s sake.

What he dreads is not the refusal, but the moment where all the warmth drains from the room, and Ian withdraws from him with an apology on is lips. They always come together later, his arms falling across his chest beneath the covers, folding over Solas’ heart, but he does not relish the uncomfortable in-between. It isn’t his fault, nor is it Ian’s, neither asked for this nor inflicted it upon the other. That knowledge, however, does not assuage the guilt that closes around his throat.

Tonight, no apology comes. Ian’s arms pull him closer, face pressing against his naked chest as he breathes in through his nose. Outside, Solas hears the sounds of Skyhold in the late evening, the distant prayer of the faithful from the gardens below and the rush of magic through the valley, racing the wind. The room’s warmth is not chased away, but nestled safely between them, nurtured by their heartbeats. Ian pulls his face away, lifting his gaze to meet his, soft resolve behind his eyes. “Can you–” He cuts himself off, teeth press into his bottom lip as he rethinks what he wants to say. “Give me a moment, please?”

A simple enough request. He nods, head bowing an inch to press his lips against Ian’s brow before he pulls away. The cool rushes in where Ian’s arms were wrapped around him, and a quiet longing steals over him as he pads towards the foot of their bed. He settles down, mattress sinking under his weight, naked heels flat against the floor. Ian angles his back away to the far corner of the room, elbows bending at sharp angles while his hands gather the bottom of his shirt together. It would be easy, Solas thinks, to summon the memory of undressing Ian, but even staring feels like an invasion he needs express permission to indulge, and so he averts his gaze, but he cannot mistake the sound. His shirt flutters to the floor, his pants follow shortly thereafter, whispering against his skin as he pulls them down his legs.

Bare feet move across the floor, hesitating for a step before they come to a halt between his legs. “You can look up, now,” Ian murmurs. He leans over, taking one of Solas’ hands and guiding it toward his hips. His eyes follow, skirting up naked skin to meet Ian’s eye.

Apprehension creases his brow, the unshakable feeling that Ian would push himself to stave off his disappointment creeps over him. “Are you certain?” His other hand find uneasy purchase upon his waist, thumb stroking small circles into his skin. He hopes to see not a trace of doubt in Ian’s expression, but then, that would not be who he fell for, would it?

Doubt aside, there is determination in his smile, a hint of confidence that had not left him yet. “Yes,” he says, “you can trust me.”

The response elicits emotion deeper than the pleasure he seeks in Ian’s body. Indeed it almost makes him cry, tears pricking the corners of his eyes. It hearkens back to lonely groves and tearful reunions, trust extended and accepted. Perhaps it was meant to. “Very well.” His head bows, brushing a kiss against the base of Ian’s ribs. “Tell me if I ought to stop.”

“I will.”

That is reassurance enough for him to begin in earnest. His grip tightens, taking Ian between his palms, skin bunching between his fingers. Ian is a different beauty from this angle, longer than his short stature might lead one to believe. Soft in the places he covets most. Solas reminds himself of how his heartbeat feels against his lips, hammering fast behind his ribs as the first quiet sigh slips between his teeth. He marks all the places upon him the sun has not yet kissed, pale skin shining pink where his teeth meet Ian’s flesh, pulling until he hisses with pleasure and pain. Where impossible freckles dust Ian’s sides he plants gentle kisses that ease small, delighted sounds from him.

He pauses, nose dipping against the hollow of his hip, his own breath hot upon his face. Bare hands settle against him, curling loosely across his shoulders. “Solas…” His name, spoken a second time, sounds sweeter upon his lips.

“Hm?”

“I didn’t–” He snorts, bemusement halting him, rather than discomfort. His belly spasms, pushing against Solas’ cheek. Laughter sends thrills through him more dangerous than his touch, a sound he had fallen for long before he knew. Ian breathes in, holding it a moment before he allows himself to speak again. “I didn’t ask you to stop.” There is pride in his voice, satisfied by his own remark, and joy, too, albeit tempered by his attempt to feign disappointment. His voice drops an octave, a low whisper above his ear. “Did I?”

Affection blossoms in the pit of Solas’ chest, rising up his spine, manifesting as a grin upon his face. He cannot help but hide it, face still buried against Ian. There is no hiding how his back flecks with gooseflesh, nor the sudden shiver that moves shoulders, steadied by Ian’s grip. The palms of his hands slide down to Ian’s thighs, fingers spreading to grip as much of them as his hands can hold. “My mistake,” he murmurs, punctuating the apology with a penitent peck to where Ian’s hips meet his legs. “Allow me to make it up to you.”

[notquitecanon]

Steven Hyde being readers date to a wedding?

Did someone say FakeDate!Au?? No? Just me? Great, here I go!  

_________

4 Things Steven Hyde Agreed To & 1 He Didn’t

1.) Photos

“There’s not much you have to do, it’ll be really fun!” You promised after Hyde gave into your begging, “First, we’ll pose for photos together since I’m in the bridal party.”

Hyde begrudgingly tucked his shades into his suit pocket before wrapping an arm around your waist.  The hand on your hip made you blush, but you didn’t dare squirm away- this needed to look real so your family would stop playing matchmaker. Instead, you leaned closer into his touch as you grinned at the photographer.

After said photographer waved you on, you groaned in frustration as you readjusted the bridesmaid dress- which in your opinion? hideous. Frowning you looked to Hyde who was already slipping his sunglasses back on, “I hate this dress, literally no one could make this good.”

Hyde spared you a glance before looking away again, clearing his throat before murmuring, “You do.”

“Oh.”

2.) Convince the Family

“Tell my family we’re together so they’ll quit setting me up on terrible blind dates- and make it convincing.”

“So Steve,” Your Aunt smiled and you saw Hyde flinch at the misnomer, “Where’d you meet our (Y/N)?”

You tried to hide your nervousness- you hadn’t thought to create a backstory. Nevertheless, Steven took it in stride as he wrapped an arm around your waist and squeezed you closer with a large smile that was almost unsettling on him- you wish he’d go back to his classic smirk or smug grin.

“It started when she transferred to Point Place, our friend Donna was the one to show her around- but I wasn’t actually at school that day, but later that afternoon- Donna brought her by to hang out.” He paused to throw you on an over-exaggerated smile before his expression softened, “Well, she basically fell through the door, laughing at something Donna said so hard that she doubled over. That’s when I knew I had to make her my girl.”

That was what happened the first time you met Hyde- he left out the part where you fell forward and your chest went straight into Fez’s chest. The boy was so delirious with excitement that he fainted on the spot. Fez still got flustered if you wore a V-neck. Hyde had told the story a million times, but never with that tone of voice or with that last part- obviously a lie for your act, but damn was he convincing. He left all your Auntie’s and cousins (and you) giggly as they continued quizzing him. Every question was answered with an eerily honest tone.

All you could do was stare up at him as you listened- your soft smile wasn’t act and neither were the butterflies.

3.) Dancing

“Dance a little, in front of the photographer specifically so I have photographic evidence to remind my family with.”

You almost forgot how good of a dancer Hyde was. And how good of an actor, apparently. Maybe it was the drinks the two of you had been sneaking from the open bar, maybe it was the music or his cologne, or maybe it was just how close he was holding you as he swayed and spun you- occasionally moving in front of the wedding photographer, just as you’d instructed him- but he was making it really easy to forget this was just an act.

As a Sinatra song faded out (which Hyde strangely knew every word of) an ABBA song began- I’ve Been Waiting For You, you recognized. Knowing his stance on Disco, you tried to step back with a smile, “I know how you feel about ABBA, so we can stop now.”

To your surprise, his grip on your waist stayed firm and his gaze soft, “No, no. I don’t mind. This is nice.”

“Oh,” You nodded in shock as you settled back into the swaying motion, head on his chest to hid the creeping blush on your cheeks as the chorus played through.  You thrill me, you delight me, you please me, you excite me, your something I’ve pleading for, I love you, I adore you, I lay my life before you, I only want you more and more, And finally it seems, my lonely days are through, I’ve been waiting for you. “This is nice.”

And that’s how you stayed until the DJ packed up.

4.) Chauffeur

“And lastly, we leave together.”

Before hitting the dance floor, Hyde switched to coffee so he’d be good to drive- so when the DJ finally shut down the music, he escorted you to the car after the newlyweds had their send-off. Still the perfect gentleman, he draped his jacket over your shoulders and even letting you laugh at the magenta lipstick stain your grandmother had left on his cheek. 

After you’d slid into the El Camino, he shut the door behind you before settling into the driver's seat. Still giggling, you offered him a handful of napkins from the glove box- falling back into full laughter when he furiously scrubbed at the magenta lip mark (it didn’t even go away, just smudged the color around further). Rooting around in your purse, you victoriously produced a wet wipe which he snatched quickly.

“We never speak of this.” He warned as the stain slowly faded, tossing the trash in the back before cranking the car. The engine roared to life, almost drowning out your laughter as he stared at you expectantly. 

“Fine, fine.” You giggled, offering your pinky. Steven shook it with such seriousness before finally pulling out of the venue’s lot. Besides the Pink Floyd playing in the background, the ride was comfortably silent until he pulled onto a highway. Looking over to him, you offered a sweet smile, “Thanks again for doing this- I know it was kind of ridiculous. But I actually had a really enjoyed myself.”

“Don’t mention it. Open bar, free food, only one ABBA song, and a chance to lie to multiple adults.” He smirked, eyes on the road as they turned mischievous, “Besides, no need to thank me. Your gran showed me your baby pictures that she keeps in her purse. Thanks is good for the night, baby picture blackmail is good forever.” 

Playfully, you smacked his shoulder while he laughed at your embarrassment, “Steven, your cheek is still stained magenta, and I will tell Kelso you can sing Sinatra.” 

He held his hands up in surrender, and you sighed as you settled back into your seat. There was a pause before you looked over to him, he was staring back- near immediately dissolving into a fit of giggles while he just chuckled putting his attention back on the road. Clearing your throat, “Blackmail or not, I really appreciate you wasting your Saturday night to go to a lame wedding with me.”

“I didn’t waste my Saturday. Being there with you- wasn’t terrible. There were parts that I’d even say I was having a good time.” He admitted a small smile as he looked over to you before continuing, “Besides, my other options were sitting in the basement with Kelso, Jackie, and Fez- and Fez just found out about threeways.” 

You laughed and nodded, a weird sense of pride that he’d had a good time on your fake date. 

5.) Unplanned

“And then once you drop me off, the minute I’m out of the car, we can forget it ever happened. Sound good?” You asked. Hyde shook his head, puffing up to argue before catching a glimpse of the flash of disappointment.

“...Fine.”

The rest of the drive home was wonderful- the two of you laughed until your sides hurt, stopped at a 24-hour diner for fries, pie, and a milkshake, and narrowly avoided a speeding ticket. But the night was quickly coming to an end as the Camino rolled onto your street. Chewing your lip, you looked to Steven, “Let’s make a block.”

He seemed to catch your drift, rolling past your house and back onto the main road. Making a block turned into another bout of just driving around- laughing about everything, talking about everything, and even just singing along to whatever music Steven would put on. This lasted until you could barely keep your eyes open and even Hyde was yawning between sentences. When your head slumped against the window, that’s when he shook his head, “Alright, time for home.”

He continued through your protests, “Yeah if I get pulled over with unconscious teenager in a formal dress on dark backroads- they’ll call me a cult leader. And the last thing I need is the cops paying more attention to me.”

Sighing, you nodded- giggling at the thought of Hyde starting a cult, good lord they’d smoke so much weed. Nevertheless, you decided to test the waters by letting your head fall to his shoulder. He tensed before relaxing, but didn’t say anything or shake you off. Content, that’s how you stayed for the rest of the ride.  

Shortly thereafter, the engine hummed as Hyde put it in park in your driveway. He moved to get out to open the door for you, and before you could stop yourself, you reached out and stopped him. 

Hyde’s eyes flicked between your eyes and the grip you had on the sleeve of his shirt, waiting expectantly as you just stared back lamely while chewing your lip, finally, you stammered out, “Still in the car, nights not over yet.”

“Yeah, that was the deal…” He nodded slowly, settling back into the driver's seat as he watched you curiously, wondering what you’d do next- you weren’t sure yourself, but you had a few ideas. 

“Well, that means, for the moment, you’re still my boyfriend for the moment.” You stated, taking a short breath while your eyes flicked to his lips, “So…”

Before you could chicken out, you rushed forward, pulling him to you by his shirt collar. He was shocked at first but reacted rather quickly to your lips on his. Tentatively, his hand cupped your cheek and the other rested on your thigh while you kept your hands on his chest. The kiss was exploratory, slow and curious and sweet- you could taste the mint on him from his ever-present chewing gum and he could still taste the salt on your lips from the fries earlier in the night. After a minute, you realized you needed to explain yourself- or at least come up with an excuse that could salvage your friendship if need be- so you pulled away, “I know that wasn’t part of the deal, but I really didn’t want this night to end.”

He didn’t answer, breath still heavy as he stared at your lips, eyebrows furrowed. You interpreted his silence as a sign that you crossed a line so with a rushed, whispered apology you fled the car before anything else could be said or done. It wasn’t until the passenger door slammed shut that Steven snapped back to reality; realizing his pause probably sent the wrong signal he cursed under his breath as he scrambled out after you, “(Y/N), wa-“

Arms crossed tightly over your chest, you swiftly interrupted him to save yourself from embarrassment, “Hyde, we don’t have to do this.”

You emphasized “this” by gesturing back and forth between the two of you before continuing while Hyde, “You did everything I asked, and now you’ve dropped me off, which according to the deal means you don’t have to pretend to like me-“

Hyde stepped forwards drawing out your sentence, but it didn’t stop you from finishing, creating an odd cacophony of words. 

“We can just forget this whole fake date and everything that happened.”

“Can we just forget about the stupid deal for a second?!” 

He did that thing where he made his voice harsh just to command attention, it always worked. The “master of zen” rarely raised his voice (unless it was to yell at Kelso and Fez), so his raised voice always turned heads. In fact, his harsh tone stopped you dead in your tracks in your march towards your front door. Forget about the deal- did that mean…?

After you’d frozen, he easily caught up to you, fingers barely brushing yours, “What if I don’t want to forget?”

He watched your expression very carefully as he continued, “The only thing I was pretending was that I was faking it.. well and I pretended to list to your uncle, but that was- never mind-“

“No one could make this look go.” “You do.”

“That’s when I knew I had to make her my girl.”

“No, no, I don’t mind, this is nice.” 

“Being there with you wasn’t terrible.” 

Reaching up, Steven tenderly tucked a lock of hair behind your ear, “(Y/N), I didn’t want to pretend to be your boyfriend when you asked me because I’ve liked you since the day I met you.”

Butterflies had turned to the whole zoo as you just dumbly nodded up to him, cheeks so hot you were sure they were glowing, with nothing better to say you just muttered, “Then I guess tonight doesn’t have to be a fake date then.”

“Guess not, doll.” He smirked, “And as your real boyfriend, I reserve the right to do this.”

Without further warning, he raised your chin and leaned down, kissing you again. This time it was more confident, assured and lasted until your porch light flicked on- the silent sign that your dad was watching and expected you to be inside within the next minute. Hyde understood this too, and let you pull away, watching you enter your house. 

Right before you walked in he called after you, “And if anyone asks- I kissed you first!”

[chrysalispen]

iii. vanished, and left but memories,

AO3 Link HERE

Chapter below cut.

============================

Papalymo Totolymo considered himself reasonably worldly for a man of Sharlayan. As the favored protege of the late Louisoix Leveilleur, many of the star’s most tumultuous events in the last twenty summers had taken place beneath his watch: from the mass colonial exodus to the motherland, to those final dark days before the Seventh Umbral Calamity. He still remembered offering prayers at one of the great standing-stones as the Empire unleashed Bahamut - that ancient and terrible primal bound by Allagan contrivance - upon the fields of Carteneau.

So too did he recall his master’s sacrifice. Papalymo was not what one would call particularly devout, nor had he placed as much stock in such things as coincidence or fate. But the events he had witnessed had gradually softened his harder stances, and the more he saw of the world, the more he thought he understood what Louisoix had meant.

Faith had, after all, saved Eorzea in the end.

He watched that slim, straight back as its owner sidled into shadow and disappeared from sight. At first glance, the woman hadn’t seemed any different from any other conjurer they had met in the past handful of years. But this time he thought there was something about her that was... different. The aetherovisor had-

“Papalymo? Are you listening?”

“...Hm? Yes,” he said with an absentminded nod. His hazel eyes lay fixed upon the emptied cavern entrance. “Well. That was… most edifying.”

“Edifying?”

“Educational.”

“What was educational about it? The sword? The Ixal?” Yda tilted her head in obvious confusion. It was quite clear that the two of them had taken something entirely different away from that encounter. “I thought you knew about those already. Or did you mean that conjurer?”

Preoccupied with checking and comparing indicator readings, Papalymo barely even acknowledged her. “Yes.”

“You didn’t answer my question.”

“Yes, I did.”

Yda’s chin tilted in the same birdlike fashion Aurelia had noted upon their meeting, and her lips pursed briefly as she tapped her index finger against her cheek. “Actually, now that you mention it… I just thought of something.”

“Hm.”

"Is it just me, or did it seem like that woman was able to see Kuplo Kopp?”

“....And this occurs to you now? Honestly, of all the questions to ask!” "What- well, you did ask me, Papalymo."

She pointed this fact out with the cheerful self-possession that rarely failed to annoy him, specifically when she employed it against him. Yda knew he hated it, so of course she did it at every opportunity.

Silver-threaded blond curls drifted across the edges of the aetherovisor with the movement of his head from side to side, as the Archon cut off his lecture before he could properly begin. From his long years of experience with her, he knew there was a greater than zero chance it would all fall upon deaf ears anyway.  “...all right, yes, that did appear to be the case- and don't you give me that look."

"What look?"

"That smug one you always get when you-"

"When I'm right? Hmm?"

"Oh, for the love of everything, Yda!"

"Go on. 'You're right, Yda.' Say it."

"Yda-"

"Saaaay it," she repeated, in a teasing little singsong. Papalymo scowled at his young partner before he realized she couldn't see his expression beneath the unwieldy visor, only the petulant purse of his lips. Pointless to fight the tide, he thought with a sort of exasperated fondness.

...He supposed he could allow her one small concession.

"Yes, yes, all right. Fine. You were right," he said testily, ignoring her tiny cheer and accompanying fist pump. "But don't get ahead of yourself. As to what significance that might bear, provided there is any, only time will tell.”

“Will it? I certainly hope so,” she retorted, bracing her hands on her hips. “It’s not as though you ever tell me anything.”

“What? What’s that supposed to mean?”

“What do you mean, what do I mean? I just said it! You never tell me what’s going on!” Yda’s pout lifted into a sly smile. “...Unless you don’t know either?”

“Of course I do! Don’t be ridiculous-”

“Ha! I knew it.”

“-and even if I didn’t,”  he huffed, “I certainly wouldn’t admit it to an insolent child!”

Yda did not take offense. Her laugh, tinkling like wind chimes, followed the pair out of the clearing.

~*~

After bearing the blade and news of a corpse to a surprised but very grateful Galfrid Mossback and his fellows, Aurelia entered the Fane to see E-Sumi-Yan conversing with one Kuplo Kopp. The moogle lifted a paw as she strode towards them.

“Ah! Aurelia," the guildmaster said. "Welcome back. I trust your return was without incident.”

“Yes, it was fine. The walk was most refreshing.” She hesitated; her gaze flickered from E-Sumi-Yan to his current conversation partner, hovering midair with open curiosity stamped all over his tiny face. “Although… I have something to ask, if I might?”

“Of course. Thank you for your assistance, Kuplo Kopp. Pray give my regards to the others.”

“I will, kupo! Wonderful to meet you at last, Aurelia!” he piped, adding a chipper backflip for good measure. “Don’t worry, I’ll say hello to Kupto Kapp and Kapna Kugi for you!”

The little creature had taken wing into the trees before she could respond, although E-Sumi-Yan’s expression was one of mild-mannered curiosity as they watched Kuplo Kopp disappear into the tree line.

“You had not told me you were acquainted with the moogles.”

“A bit of an exaggeration,” Aurelia hedged. “I met a couple of them by chance when I first came to the wood. They were quite helpful, as I recall.”

He squinted at her. Opened his mouth- then shut it, as if he had been about to say something and thought better of it, and cleared his throat.

“We have a good rapport with the moogles,” was all he said. “What was it you wished to ask?”

“When I was in the glade earlier, there were two others who arrived shortly thereafter. A Hyur woman - a pugilist - and a Lalafell gentleman. I asked after their business in the Shroud, but they were quite evasive.” Thoughtfully she tapped her temple. “They each sported some peculiar contraption. I thought at first perhaps they were customized sets of spectacles. Mayhap a magitek visor of some sort, but if so it was surely not of imperial make.”

E-Sumi-Yan was smiling.

“Ah,” he said. “You’ve met Yda and Papalymo.”

“Adventurers?”

“Scholars. Aetherologists from Sharlayan, if memory serves. But you may safely lay any suspicions you have to rest - they are friends. Their assistance over the last few years, particularly with regards to the Garlean Empire, has proven invaluable.”

Aurelia only nodded. The pair had been strange, and their exchanges clearly born of long years of personal intimacy, but neither had come across as threatening.

“Now- as to the matter we discussed before you took your leave…” He muttered something under his breath too softly for her to catch and began to pat down his robes. “Ah! Here we are.”

The neatly folded and wax-sealed parchment in his hand bore the mark of the Conjurers’ Guild and, she could see, the Padjal’s own painstakingly neat script. E-Sumi-Yan glanced at it for only the briefest of moments before he held it out for her to take.

“I took the liberty of discussing the matter with Miounne while you were running that errand for me. She has already agreed to send word ahead to the Adventurers’ Guild in Ul’dah, I expect.” A stray breeze ruffled his sandy hair as he inclined his chin, smile unwavering. “She should have another letter of her own ready for you when you return to the inn.”

“I- oh,” for a second time in the space of a day Aurelia found herself taken aback. “This… goodness, you work very quickly.”

“Oh?”

“I confess I had thought a letter of introduction might take some days to draft, not bells.”

“Not at all! I had the time to spare, and at any rate I have written many such letters in my time. They are quite formulaic.”

“I appreciate the trouble you’ve taken-”

“Lest you misunderstand, Aurelia, this is no more than I might otherwise have done for any of my novices,” there was no visible change to his expression but his tone was so firm it might almost have been a reprimand. “This letter does not guarantee your enrollment into the Phrontistery. ‘Tis but a window of opportunity, and little else.”

In other words, he could get her into Ul’dah and secure her lodging. Anything beyond that would have to be accomplished by her hand and hers alone - she was not surprised; she had a rough idea of Uldah’s love of self-made success stories.

But Aurelia was not unaccustomed to such uphill battles; if she could make her own way in Gridania despite her ignorance of its customs when she had first arrived in the Shroud, she was quite sure she could manage matters in Ul’dah. A chance was all she required, and here it lay, in her hand.

“Well enough to my thinking that you have provided it,” she said. “You have my thanks.”

His serene smile turned somewhat doleful. “I would be remiss not to admit that your absence will be felt. But I will not be one to clip your wings, either. Now go. Give Mother Miounne my regards.”

“I will.”

Perhaps you will return to the wood as a guardian once more, E-Sumi-Yan mused as she passed from the boughs of the Fane. Most heed its call, in the end. But I will only accept it from you if that is what is meant to be.

Even for foolish notions of sentimentality, he knew it was not his place to tangle the Spinner’s weave.

~*~

“I am beginning to wonder,” Alisaie Leveilleur declared to no one in particular, “if there are any other cycles of weather in this place beyond ‘rain’ and ‘purple.’ “

No one answered. Not that she had expected otherwise.

The young elezen spared a sullen glance at the dodo tenderloin on her plate - rubbery with gristle, lukewarm, and unappetizing - before resuming her people-watching out the nearby window, or what there was of it. Only one of the panes had tempered glass in; the other three were covered with some sort of oilcloth, no doubt to proof the opening against the region’s frequent afternoon showers.

There wasn’t much to see, truth be told. Revenant’s Toll had been washed away in the floods following the Carteneau disaster five years past. Although the adventurers who ran the town were rebuilding, the new town - if one could properly call it that - was essentially a glorified leve outpost. Albeit, she allowed, it was a leve outpost with a bar, a boarding house, and some tents attached, but at this moment in time still little more than a burgeoning bump in the road. The camp's new location sat well up the ascent onto the escarpment this time, some five malms north of the old camp.

Alphinaud had observed that the new location was far more strategically advantageous, and had been more than happy to explain his theory at length without any prompting. Alisaie had scant interest in such matters, and had tuned her brother’s lecture out in favor of exploration after only a few scant minutes.

Mor Dhona had been a very pretty place once, so they had been told, lush and green. But most of the old rainforests had been destroyed, first by the great battle between the Garlean Empire and the Dravanian horde, then by Dalamud’s descent. She was grateful that for a small blessing, the window seat she had chosen did not afford her an unhampered view of the Carteneau Flats. At its epicenter grew the massive crystalline half-sphere that had settled into the face of the land like a pockmark with its shattered Allagan structures poking haphazardly out from unstable, poisonous facets. That was where Grandfather had-- where he had--

Her gaze returned to her emptied teacup.

“Are you not hungry?”

Alphinaud stood at the edge of the table with a refilled trencher and a fresh pot. She shook her head.

“Just the tea, thank you.” Alisaie all but snatched the pot away before he had even finished setting it down, grateful for the momentary distraction. “I’ll pour it myself.”

“You really can see the Keeper from here.”

“What?”

“The Keeper of the Lake. So-called.” Her brother peered out the window as he seated himself at a positively glacial pace, deep blue eyes scanning their surrounds. "See? Over there, wrapped around the HRS Agrius. ...what’s left of it, at any rate.”

Following his gaze as she poured her tea, Alisaie could just see the outline of the gruesome landmark that sat in the center of Silvertear Lake. The protruding wreckage of the doomed imperial dreadnought shimmered dully in shades of black steel and flaking vermilion paint, only barely visible in the gloaming. Without the imposing structure, the decomposing remains of the great wyrm Midgardsormr wound tightly about its sheared and exposed hull: the final embrace of a murderous lover. Over it all loomed the blue-white silhouette of a very tall crystal spire, glowing with a strange ambient light. It put her in mind of a lighthouse watchtower in a fog bank.

“So,” Alphinaud had turned back to his trencher, “have you made ready, sister? We depart on the morrow.”

“Not yet." As ever, the long and careful sip she took from the cup helped her to gather her thoughts. She set it down with a quiet porcelain rattle before she continued: "I want to go down to the Flats once more before we leave."

“Why?"

“To see if anything was left behind.”

"No." His refusal was adamant. "We’re pressed for time as it is. Even if we weren't, anything of value will have been removed years ago.”

Nerves frayed by fatigue and frustration, catching the annoyed lilt in his voice, she felt herself bristling.

“Have you even tried to look?”

“Alisaie-”

“All I ask is another day to make inquiries. One day.”

“And I am telling you we don’t have one day. The itinerary-”

“Oh, sod the bleeding itinerary!” she burst out. “If I didn’t know better, I’d think you simply didn’t care to assist me at all!”

Alphinaud’s fist, still holding his fork, slammed against the table with enough emphasis to rattle her teacup saucer and splash a few droplets of its contents onto the table. She expected some sort of surprised rejoinder, or - far more likely - yet another calm (and rather condescending) explanation as to why it would be impossible to continue her search without more resources. Implying yet again, as tended to be his wont, that her requests to seek more information as to their grandfather’s whereabouts were merely part and parcel of a childish whim.

Instead, the flash of light in his eyes was that of wounded anger: one of Alphinaud’s rare displays of ill temper- or, perhaps, the grief he so rarely allowed himself to display in public. His lips were drawn into a thin, taut line and his eyes, the same deep blue as her own, appeared for a moment to be suspiciously bright. “That was unkind of you,” he accused. “You are not the only one of us who misses Grandfather, you know. Nor wishes for his safe return, if there is a return to be had." "I'm aware."

"And you know he would not have wanted us to neglect tasks of monumental importance solely for his sake. That was never his way.”

"I just… Alphinaud, we promised each other," the strident pitch of it was close enough to a plea to make her cringe, but there was little help for it, "If there’s even the slightest chance he might still be alive-”

“The chance is slim to none. You know that.” He would not meet her gaze. “And even so, we cannot linger. Grandfather’s successor will be awaiting our arrival and she is certain to have more accurate information on his whereabouts than nearly anyone you would meet here.”

“But... oh, all right. I suppose you make a valid point,” she said. You’re right, as per bloody usual. One hand curled into a fist atop the roughened wooden surface; the admission stuck squarely in her craw, but Alisaie knew full well there would be no peace between them did she allow the rule of her pride to stay her tongue. “...And that was unkind. Forgive me.”

Alphinaud said nothing for a long moment. Worry had just started to nag at the corners of her conscience when his slim, unblemished fingers reached for her hand. She relaxed her fist and allowed him to lace his fingers with hers, then in her turn covered her brother’s hand with her other palm. It was a gesture meant to placate as much as to comfort, but she supposed that particular river flowed both ways.

“We’ll come back,” Alphinaud said at length. His sigh, a long-suffering thing, seemed to close the space between them. “All right? We’ll come back. I just think we should see to his outstanding obligations first and foremost. Once that's done, you can take as much time to investigate as you like.”

Somewhat suspicious of the gesture, she peered at him from beneath her snowy veil of fringe. “Do you mean it?”

“At the first opportunity," he added. "I swear it.”

Alisaie squinted at him for a careful moment before she withdrew her hand. She drummed her fingertips upon the table for a moment, then picked up the fork that lay alongside her long-abandoned trencher. He blinked when she jabbed its business end in his direction, a movement that might have been amusing were it not also vaguely threatening.

“...I’m going to hold you to that."

“Of course you will," he groused. "You always do.”

His surly retort prompted Alisaie to finally flash a strained grin. It was the first smile she had spared for him since the pair had stood together on the deck of their ship and watched the city shrink to a bare glimmer on the horizon, swallowed by the endless dark of the open sea. Then, their purpose had been united. The weeks spent at sea and on land had eroded it, but Alisaie at least had not lost sight of her purpose.

And I will hold you to your word this time as well, little brother.

She lifted her teacup in a mock toast and watched as he followed suit.

“Well. To the road on the morrow, then,” she said. “And Gridania.”

“And Gridania.”

The meeting of the twins' cups chimed with their sealed bargain. Without the town of Revenant's Toll, the pall of dusk continued its descent.

[blackjack-15]

Avenge My Twistery Depth — Thoughts on: Trail of the Twister (TOT)

Previous Metas: SCK/SCK2, STFD, MHM, TRT, FIN, SSH, DOG, CAR, DDI, SHA, CUR, CLK, TRN, DAN, CRE, ICE, CRY, VEN, HAU, RAN, WAC

Hello and welcome to a Nancy Drew meta series! 30 metas, 30 Nancy Drew Games that I’m comfortable with doing meta about. Hot takes, cold takes, and just Takes will abound, but one thing’s for sure: they’ll all be longer than I mean them to be.

Each meta will have different distinct sections: an Introduction, an exploration of the Title, an explanation of the Mystery, a run-through of the Suspects. Then, I’ll tackle some of my favorite and least favorite things about the game, and finish it off with ideas on how to improve it.

If any game requires an extra section or two, they’ll be listed in the paragraph above, along with links to previous metas.

These metas are not spoiler free, though I’ll list any games/media that they might spoil here: TOT, WAC, mentions of GTH.

The Intro:

Let’s talk about Trail of the Twister, shall we? No clever intro, no pun, no sassy statement on the quality (whether lacking or overflowing) of the game…let’s just Talk.

Like I said at the beginning of my WAC meta, TOT is one of two games that doesn’t really fit into a category besides it and WAC demonstrating HER’s growing pains. The world opens (kinda), the characters get a little deeper (kinda) and a few new things are tried with plots and character (to varying degrees of success). Both WAC and TOT — but especially TOT — represent a shift in the tone of the games and their approach. You can ascribe this to a lot of reasons — an aging fanbase, technology marching on, a new writer in the mix — but you really can’t ignore it, no matter if you’re a Classic Games Elitist or a Newer Games Snob (or neither one).

To paraphrase a fabulous song, there’s something there that wasn’t there before.

This is not me saying in any way that TOT is a fabulous — or even moderately successful — game. In fact, it whiffs a lot where WAC hit solidly, which makes playing them one after the other a sort of chore; WAC is weighed down by the knowledge of what comes next (after such a brief respite from games like ICE, HAU, and RAN), and TOT’s repetitive chore list seems even bleaker after the snack shop and secret societies of WAC.

Which is truly unfortunate, because hiding behind the rat traps and the car chases (or drives, if you drive like a normal person in this game) and the endless moon chunk offerings is one heck of a story. Unfinished and beleaguered and (to my suspicions) censored as it is, there is a definite, multilayered, morally ambiguous, honest-to-moon-chunk story in TOT.

Like I said, something there that wasn’t there before.

Playing through the games in order, it seems like the reason WAC is so solid is, in part, because the games before it have so little cohesive story as to be laughable. Playing them out of order will show you that though WAC does come off a little better than it actually is due to the games that came before it, it’s also actually a step-up from a lot of games in the complexity of its plot and characters. At this point in the series that’s about to happen a lot, but WAC is the first real instance where you get it. Like I said, these two games mark a tonal and approach-based shift in the games.

So let’s turn our attention to TOT.

There are a lot of things that bog down this game — it feels sometimes as if you’re simply going through Farmville-esque tasks to get from Point A to Point B — but its plot and characters (save in one large instance) aren’t actually the culprits. Surprisingly enough, we have a mystery here with enough twists, turns, small crimes, and red herrings to make for a perfectly serviceable plot with relatively well-developed (for the length of the game) characters (whom I’ll go into more below).

A huge difference from a lot of the games is that we have a prominent unseen character who isn’t the one who hired Nancy or who is part of the historical background. Brooke’s actions actively move the plot along no matter what Nancy does, and I do like that the world of TOT goes on spinning (as it were) without Nancy driving everything.

You get the sense that Nancy truly was just dropped into the middle of this without having any control over the situation, and that she spends the entire game (or most of it) playing catch-up, rather than being on the scene for the crime(s) or arriving shortly thereafter.

In TOT, this sabotage has been going on for a while — the competition is nearly over, in fact — and Nancy has to actually do some detective work to even get caught up, let alone to try to step a few feet in front of the guilty party.

One interesting thing is what TOT and WAC share: they both feature casts who are only a few years off of Nancy’s age; in WAC, they’re a tiny bit younger, while in TOT, they’re a tiny bit older. Nancy, being Nancy, is much more in her element with the ages of her suspects in TOT than she is with high schoolers — with how much time Nancy spends around people significantly older than her, I’d be shocked if she got along well with high schoolers when she was in high school herself.

As a side note, I know it’s sort of a fandom thing that Nancy gets along well with children, but honestly outside of Lucas, it’s not something we really see (no, I’m not counting pelting Freddie with snow 10 times sans mercy as getting along with children) — and honestly Lucas is just charming, so I see no reason why Nancy wouldn’t get along with him. Generally speaking, kids who grow up the way Nancy has [especially as an only child] are far more comfortable with ‘adults’ — well established, 35/40+ adults, who make up the majority of her suspect pools — than they are with peers or children.

There’s also a great deal of care taken with making all the suspects (mostly) equally likely for a large portion of the game; it’s not until past the halfway point that a suspect (Chase) is cleared due to his confession of a different crime, and even then, he doesn’t really become Nancy’s helper, as is the usual case with cleared suspects. This is actually one of the few games where Nancy doesn’t really have a helper; she relies on herself, the Hardy Boys, and (questionably) P. G. Krolmeister to get the job done.

And speaking of the Hardy Boys…you knew an intro wouldn’t be complete without my mentioning them, hush.

The Hardy Boys are arguably the set piece that benefit most from Nik’s writing (and yes, I’m going to ascribe it to him; he’s the most prominent variable). Don’t get me wrong, the Hardy Boys were great before, but the Nik games are where they start attaining a place of more prominence and solidify their distinct personalities other than “focused killjoy and playful scamp”. In this game, you get more of Frank’s protectiveness (directed towards Nancy) and Joe’s actual sleuthing abilities — not the least of which because this game coincides with that DS Masterpiece “Treasure on the Tracks”.

Oh yeah, we’re going there. It’s relevant.

Treasure on the Tracks, as mentioned, was a game for the Nintendo DS (and the only one, mind you) focusing on the Hardy Boys. In the game (as in TOT), they’re tracking down the Romanov treasure with the help of a surprising ally — Samantha Quick herself. Samantha is under orders (from who, she never says, but a future game makes it obvious) to help the boys find the treasure aboard the royal train that the Romanovs used to own.

And yes, I would have loved that to be a joint Nancy Drew/Hardy Boys PC game, but I’ll push the bitterness aside for the facts. Which are that this game has a rad premise and would have been a very cool addition to the ND series…but I digress. Regardless, that’s what the boys are doing during TOT, so we get little hints to their investigation as well as having them help Nancy out.

I love that the Hardy Boys have an actual mystery that they’re investigating, as beginning with this game we see a lot more of their ‘agent’ side being brought out. It’s nice to feel that Nancy isn’t alone out there fighting against the forces of evil, and gives excuses to have the Hardy Boys in the games more, so I’m a big fan in general. It also helps build them up as investigators; while they offer hints to Nancy a lot, we don’t get to see them doing a lot of spy/detective work, and it’s lovely to be able to see it here.

And I love their sibling banter. It’s obvious that JVS and Rob Jones have a lot of fun with their roles, and it really lightens and enhances any Nancy Drew game that they’re in.

The last interesting thing that I’ll point out before diving into the game itself is what TOT does for the world of Nancy Drew. Beginning with this game, we start the tradition of each game leading directly into the next one; for her help in TOT, Krolmeister sends her to his favorite ryokan in Japan, which leads to her being hired for CAP; her absence and fight with Ned in CAP lead her back home for the Clues Challenge in ASH, and so on and so forth.

It really makes the world feel solid and cohesive, and lets our characters grow and shift and change without making it feel episodic or sudden. The Nancy of SPY is quite different from the Nancy of TOT in how she behaves and tackles mysteries, but her character growth throughout the games in between make it feel right and natural — like actual character growth.

The Title:

As a title, “Trail of the Twister” isn’t bad — it’s got that alliteration that ND books tend to like doing, and makes it feel a little classic. It also gets a play with words in there — you’re tracing the actual trail of the actual twister, and you’re also walking through the evidence left behind (aka a trail) of a twisting plot. Solid, if not exceptional, with its only real detriment being the hilarious acronym (TOT).

The book it’s (loosely) based off of is called “The Mystery of Tornado Alley” which, obvious to anyone with eyes, is a much worse title while telling us the same thing. It also doesn’t apply to the game as much – you’re not figuring out a mystery as much as unwinding the tangled threads of character motivations — and is supremely clunky to boot.

The Mystery:

Called in by P.G. Krolmeister to go undercover, Nancy joins a team of storm-chasers bent on winning a grant for their research — and beating the opposing team that wants the same thing. Nancy begins the mystery by finding a tin box full of cash (payment for an as-of-yet unspecified action) and it spirals from there, putting the not-so-amateur teen sleuth through her paces learning about tornados and storms, taking pictures, and trying her best to keep everyone happy and working towards the money.

It’s not as easy as it sounds, however. There are competing forces at work outside (and sometimes within) the two teams, and the personalities of the storm-chasers that Nancy must investigate mean that no one trusts anyone else. Things continue to go wrong and Nancy chases down the clues until the mother of all tornados hits town, and our culprit takes advantage of the distraction…

I mentioned above some censorship that I suspect went on in this game, and I’ll talk about it here. Given the darker themes of this game and the mentions of death and serious injury (more than most other games in the series at this point), I would say part of the reason why our story is a little more…displeasing, especially by the end, is that HER was really intent on the 10 part of the 10+ rating.

There’s lots to explore — the Ma storyline that goes nowhere, the collateral damage of these tornadoes, the fact that our cast is filled with genuinely unpleasant criminals — and yet it gets glanced over while feeling like the game is building up to it. Like CRE and ICE where I postulated a lot of the attention went to the new engine, I’m going to postulate here that the reason why we have hanging plot threads and injustice at the end (which I’ll talk about later) is that the game was censored by the HER bigwigs to ensure it still fit in a 10+ rating.

As a mystery, like I said above, there’s absolutely nothing wrong here. We’ve got plenty of means/motive/opportunity spread out in our cast (and in the periphery cast, just to keep things interesting), the threads and smaller crimes/wrongdoings/etc. are realistic in scope and in motive to keep them hidden, and it’s the personalities of the suspects that give us our conflict and tension, rather than random “interferences” by the writers. And speaking of our suspects, let’s go to the other area that TOT does (almost) nothing wrong.

The Suspects:

First off is Chase Releford, a junior who took Scott’s class for a science credit who got super interested in the actual work. The team’s handyman, Chase has noticed (and fixed, and fixed again) the equipment acting up, and is being stretched pretty thin in order to keep it all shipshape and in working order.

He’s also one of Nancy’s sources of Pa Pennies, if you wanna spend hours doing circuit boards.

As a culprit, Chase is a great option (which is a sentiment you’ll hear repeated for all of our suspects, never fear). He’s secretly spending his time looking for oil with Pa’s divining rods, which puts two crimes on his conscience (stealing the rods and not working on company time) and helps the team fall even further behind. It’s important to note that for a large chunk of this game, the likelihood of the suspect also hinges on how much they want Scott to fail, and Chase is pretty much the only one without any real anger towards Scott.

The owner of the local general store, Pa Ochs might be a surprising option to put ahead of Chase in order of culprit likelihood/suitability, but I stand by it. Having lost his wife (Betsy “Ma” Ochs) to a tornado (the warning sirens, which were Scott’s responsibility, didn’t go off), Pa alone mans the counter, helping Nancy find everything she needs — for a price, of course.

The price being annoyingly hard to get Pa Pennies. Unless you exploit a glitch.

Here’s where we start with the culprit possibilities that have an actual grudge against Scott. Though not as angry as he could be, Pa is deeply hurt by the loss of his wife Betsy, and has grounds for an axe to grind with Scott. As much as I would have loved to have the ‘friendly general store owner’ be the culprit, it would have been like a mix of DOG’s Emily and FIN’s Joseph (minus the Crazy), and it’s (sadly) best to leave that ground alone without re-treading it.

Frosty Harlow is next up; a second-year grad student in digital media, Frosty got his nickname (his real name is Tobias) from his storm photography and is, well, trying to re-capture that lightning in a bottle.

He also screams like a little girl. So that’s fun.

Like Chase and Pa, Frosty is a wonderful option for a culprit. His crime is selling university property (the video of the storm he and Nancy shot) to an aspiring photographer (who happens to be on the rival team) to help them get a toehold into the business, along with working with Debbie to try to stress Scott into quitting.

What really makes Frosty stand out is that, unlike Chase, Frosty doesn’t feel bad about what he did at all. He also holds far more animosity towards Scott than Pa does, and has a little more…innate anger as a person.

If you haven’t noticed by now, we’re going in order of “worst” culprit option to “best” (and then the actual culprit), and it really says something about how fleshed out these characters already are that we start with people who are solid options to begin with.

Though only appearing vocally and for a few minutes total of the game’s runtime, I’m going to list Brooke Tavanah as our next most likely culprit — in part because, well, she kind of is our culprit. The leader of the rival storm-chasing team, Brooke offered Scott money to sabotage his own team to let her team win the grant — an offer that he takes her up on.

Of course, Brooke isn’t the only one sleeping with the enemy (so to speak) to ensure her team’s victory; her videographer, Erin, is apparently so talentless as to need to buy footage from Scott’s team as well.

Things don’t exactly look great for the Kingston University team — as they can’t really get ahead even through sabotage and skullduggery, and one does wonder if they’d even be able to put the grant to good use. That, of course, is not the point; Brooke wants her team to win, come hell or high…wind…and a little thing like scientific ability isn’t going to stop her.

(Interestingly enough, this is the first of three times we’ll see Kingston University pop up; we meet their alumni again in TMB and DED).

I love that Brooke is guilty, because so often in Nancy Drew games the tendency is to implicate an unseen character and then to have that implication be a poorly done red herring. Instead, Brooke isn’t a distraction, nor a smoke screen — she’s just another piece of the puzzle.

Our last non-Culprit (by the games’ common definition) suspect is Debbie Kircum, a recent PhD graduate who is on her fifth time working with Scott in chase season, and who has gotten a lucrative offer to teach at a university in New York.

Worrying that Scott would let his resentment towards the college hurt their chances in the competition, Debbie leads the conspiracy to stress him out so much that he just quits. I’ll talk more about this later, but it is both one of my favorite and least favorite things about this game. For now, I’ll say that her plan works…but not the way that she planned; for her and lots of other suspects in this and upcoming games, the quote “the price for getting what you want is getting what you once wanted” works perfectly to describe their arcs.

As a culprit, (as Debbie fully qualifies as a culprit), Debbie certainly has the shortsightedness and nastiness that Nancy Drew culprits tend to have. She’s extremely good at getting what she wants…but see the quote in the previous paragraph.

She also over-contours her cheeks so much that it looks like someone slapped her with an open compact of bronzer.

That takes us to our final culprit and character, Scott Varnell, genius professor of meteorology and the leader of the Canute team. Scott is my personal favorite character not just because he’s the most interesting, but because he’s a tragic figure who isn’t historical/dead, and those are a bit of a rarity in Nancy Drew games, especially at this point.

Being an expert on tornadoes yet denied tenure based on his personality, rather than his academic prowess (a gripe I share as it applies to jobs/academia), Scott holds a grudge against those who don’t recognize his contributions to meteorology and to the study of tornadoes specifically. Unbeknownst to him, two members of his four-man team have been conspiring to stress him out so badly that he’ll just quit, as they think he’ll be a hindrance (again, due to his personality) in winning the competition.

Scott is in some ways the obvious option, and yet the game never turns into a howdunnit. Throughout the mystery he tends to be the prime suspect, but is also the prime victim — a dichotomy we’ve never seen before in the Nancy Drew Games. I’ll talk more about Scott below (a sentence increasingly common in this meta), but I both love and hate him as the culprit, and that’s something new (and interesting) that TOT brings as well.

The Favorite:

Don’t worry, we’ll get into TOT’s myriad flaws soon enough, but for now I want to focus on what it does right.

The first thing the game nails is the Hardy Boys. Their inclusion, their plot, their characterization, the voice acting — all of it is nigh-flawless, and is by far the most enjoyable part of the game. Don’t get me wrong, the Hardy Boys are usually quite far up there on the list of things I love about a game with them in it, but they really start to shine more in TOT, gaining some character development, plot relevance, and just overall depth.

Oddly (or perhaps not oddly at all) I don’t have a favorite moment nor a favorite puzzle in this game; barring that, I’ll talk about some of the great threads to the game, rather than any particular moment/puzzle that stands out.

I love that we get new and interesting layers to our story and characters. As I mentioned briefly above, there’s a real sense of the world existing before Nancy’s arrival, which works wonders for the world of the games, and our characters here are more layered, more distinct, and more ‘realistic’ (for the value of ‘realism’ in stories) than they ever have been before.

This is a game unafraid to deal with the topics of death and mistakes, and that accounts for part of the depth to the game as well. No, not the whole “Where’s Ma” thing — which I fully believe to just be a script that didn’t fire/didn’t stop firing in the game’s code after finding the newspaper that says exactly what happened to Ma — I’m talking about Scott’s mistake in the tornado warning system, Debbie and Frosty’s mistakes in dealing with Scott (which I’ll talk more about), and even Brooke’s miscalculations that lead to the ending of the game. Everyone here deals with the fallout of their mistakes, and it’s how they handle it that forms the basis for our plot.

It’s a seemingly small thing, but I love the sheer level of detail in this game. You can click on everything, read everything, explore everywhere — there’s a lot of information crammed into the game that sometimes you won’t get until the second or third replay (that is, if you have the stomach to play through this game repeatedly).

The use of our tertiary NPCs (Brooke, Krolmeister, Erin) is also inspired; they help the world feel whole and varied rather than existing simply for the benefit of the game, and show that Nancy doesn’t have control over everything when she’s investigating — and that she can be wrong in her focus of investigating (whether because she pays too much or not enough attention to the ‘minor’ characters).

Speaking of characters, I also love that our characters in this game – our suspects — are able to be fully formed without (on purpose, I feel) being particularly likable. It’s always fun to get a cast of characters that are hostile to Nancy, but TOT’s characters are slightly different from that: they just don’t care about her. She’s another intern to them, nigh-invisible except when they need a chore done. Nancy also doesn’t really try to befriend anyone because of it, and I like that too. Sometimes, a game should just be 1 vs 4, with some backup in the wings courtesy of phone friends.

The last facet of the game that I love is Scott himself as a character. Sure he’s cantankerous, blunt, egotistical, and a thousand other things, but the game is very clear that these ‘faults’ don’t make him anything other than what he is — a brilliant meteorologist and the foremost mind when it comes to tornadoes and tornadogenesis. The university undervalues him, but the team really can’t function without him, sabotage or no sabotage.

His motive for the sabotage isn’t the money nor fame — it’s simple tit-for-tat. For such a complex game (note, I’m still not saying it’s a fun or good game), our ultimate motive is deceptively simple: do unto others what they have done unto you. Tired of being devalued and having his worth judged on his personality rather than his work, he decides that if the university doesn’t care enough to keep him around (and for his worth as a professor, look at how accomplished and passionate his team of former students is), then they don’t care to keep up their program either.

It’s hard not to sympathize with that, especially if you’re the kind of person who’s been valued based on any defects in your personality — rather than your ability to do a job and do it well — and been found wanting. Whether you’re too serious (or not serious enough), too flighty (or too inflexible), or any other stupid “personality defect” that the workforce loves to throw around, we’ve all heard it before. Scott’s thrown into an unfair situation and — wrongly or not — decides that his troubles are going to have trouble with him.

The last thing I’ll add on the topic of Scott for this section is that I do love that Debbie and Frosty create their own villain. In figuring that Scott’s personality is going to prevent them from getting the grant (never mind the 4 other years that Debbie’s been on this team with him where it hasn’t been a problem), they decide to screw him over presumptively — and thus create a Scott who actually does want to prevent them from getting the grant. It’s usually a mark of a solid story (and solid writing in general) where the villain is created not from some problem inherent in them, but because they’re perceived to be a problem in the future — and thus live down to the expectation.

The Un-Favorite:

The problem with everything TOT does right — and that’s nearly a thousand words about what it does right above — is that it never combines to make a game that’s enjoyable to play. Before I go into the specifics, I do want to make that clear; TOT is a fascinating game to think and write about, but it’s honestly nigh-unplayable. The puzzles and chores are laborious (and repeated ad nauseum), pieces of the plot don’t make sense, and the ending is the bleakest in the series until GTH’s multiple endings took the cake.

A game should be well-written, complex, and interesting, but it just has to be fun to play as well. It has to. And that seems to have been forgotten during the course of making TOT. My least favorite moment is the ending of the game (more on that below), but I don’t have a least favorite puzzle — on the basis that most of the puzzles are equally bad. There’s no real standout…but that’s not a good thing.

Now let’s get into some of the bits and parts of the game that I really despise.

The handling of Scott is one of my favorite parts of the game, but it’s also my least favorite part of the game as well. They’ve set up a character who firmly believes that everything ends poorly, that he’ll never profit no matter what, and that, ultimately, no matter how hard he tries, nothing will go the way it should. And then the game confirms that worldview to the end. There’s no other option; no matter what Scott does or doesn’t do, no matter if he tries his best or blows it off, the end result is the same, and that’s a tragedy. Sure, you can argue it’s his actions that led him to a bad ending, but he only took those actions because he was heading to a bad ending anyway.

The feeling you get at the end of the game isn’t a feeling of justice served, nor success — it’s pity in a way that’s never been cultivated for any criminal up to this point in the series. And it’s not cathartic — it’s just more misery.

The other huge thing that I hate about this game ties into it — there really is no justice. The supposed ‘happy ending’ is Debbie getting people from both teams to ‘win’ the grant (where does it ultimately go — Canute or Kingston? Can it count as winning if there’s only one team? HER certainly didn’t bother to think about these things)…but Debbie’s hands are just as filthy — and I think more so — than Scott’s are.

Debbie leads Frosty in conspiring to make Scott quit and actually created their own monster — does she even know Scott at all? He’s lead a team through at least the last 4 years, probably more, and not had a problem; why now? Power? Greed? Pride? Whichever way you spin it, she and Frosty are guilty.

Frosty and Erin (of the Kingston Team) are also guilty on a separate charge; Erin for buying the footage and Frosty for selling it. If Brooke and Scott are kicked off, Frosty and Erin (at least) should also go for the same conspiracy charge. Everyone on the team (excepting possibly Chase) knowingly sabotaged their team; why is Scott the only one punished? Why does Debbie (and Frosty, and Erin) get off scot-free (pun intended) to win the prize, despite everything?

When I say that there’s no justice nor success here, this is what I mean. The whole thing stinks from top to bottom, and any way you look at it, a culprit walks.

Honestly, the ending should have just been “Chase, guilty only of petty theft, led the team (of himself and Pa) and was given the grant, which they donated to a charity for tornado victims”. Kingston actively cheated and Canute doesn’t deserve it either. In a game where everyone deserves to lose, declaring a winner just leaves a bad taste in my mouth — and a black mark on the game.

The Fix:

So how would I fix Trail of the Twister?

My feeling is that if you’re going to go with a downer ending — which TOT is — then go for a full one. Have Nancy discover everyone’s crimes — and I do mean everyone’s — and report to Krolmeister, asking what he wants her to do. Don’t forget, Nancy’s got an actual client in this game, and can’t go off half-cocked like she tends to in her more informal mysteries.

In the end, as nearly everyone would be disqualified, the competition should go to a third party — a storm chasing team that’s not Kingston nor Canute — and create chances for less corrupt institutions to study tornadoes at a level they haven’t been able to before. Sure, our suspects would lose, but, honestly, outside Chase…does anyone deserve to win?

I’d also be a fan of Scott getting a second chance due to outside sabotage (directed solely at him) with a job opportunity to consult for storm chasers. It’d be an arena where he’d be seen as the expert he is, without having to deal with the namby-pamby bureaucracy that infects universities (and that he hates anyway). He’d get the name recognition and the ability to actually do work in his field that he needs without being put in situations where he can’t help but fail. Honestly, I’d prefer that P. G. Krolmeister offered it (while saying he’s going to be keeping an eye on him), but really anything would do.

Exposing the crimes of everyone – and focusing on more than just Scott’s — would be the quickest way to improve the story of the game. The puzzles, on the other hand, need to be completely redone; a mix of ostensibly tornado-related intern-type chores (like the circuit boards) and more detective-type puzzles (fingerprinting suspects for a match on the tin bribe box, tracking everyone’s movements, solving codes used for communication) would be a big help in making TOT not just feel like a list of chores with a bad ending.

Oh, and fix the broken code leading Nancy to ask about a man’s dead wife over and over again. She lacks tact as it is.

[bittysvalentines]

Are you partners?

From: @redneterp

For: @jeanjacketbittle

I hope this little story of these giant boys brings you joy!

Rating: T | Pairing: Ransom/Holster| Content warning: injury

When Holster is injured during a hockey game, Ransom is by his side every step of the way (literally), and realizes he has Feelings for his bro. Will those feelings be reciprocated? Will Holster be able to return to the ice? Read on to see how the original D-men Best Bros navigate these unexpected questions.

Friday Feb 12th 2016.

Samwell vs Harvard.

Four minutes remaining in the third period with the game tied 2-2.

Ransom put on a burst of speed to pressure Harvard’s right winger towards the boards, but at the last moment the guy dumped the puck behind the net. Still marking his man, Ransom spun just in time to see Holster rushing back for the loose puck. There was a flurry of sticks and limbs, and then somehow Holster was down and sliding towards the goal at great speed. Fuck, did that asshole right winger trip Holzy? Wait, did he hit the post? Shit, he’s not getting up.

Somewhere in the confusion, Chowder managed to get a glove on the puck on the far side of the crease, and the ref whistled the stoppage in play. Abandoning his mark, Ransom rushed to the goal, dropping to one knee at Holster’s side. 

“Holtzy? Bro, are you ok?”

Holster was curled up on his side, stick abandoned, nearly in a fetal position with his right skate still within the goal. He groaned as he turned to face Ransom, his face a ghostly shade of white under the arena lights. “Uggh, fuck, my knee,” he moaned, clutching the joint with his still-gloved hands.

“Shit, did you go knee-first into the post?”

“I think so, yeah.”

“Fuck… Can you move it?” Ransom asked.

Holster tried, shifting his skate an inch or two on the ice, with a wince of pain. “Not really.”

By then the trainers had arrived, sliding across the ice on their shoes, confirmed that Holster hadn’t injured his head or spine, and gave permission for him to try and get up. Holster slowly got up, bracing himself on Ransom, but wasn’t able to put weight on that right leg. He balanced on his left, arms wrapped around Ransom and Whiskey’s shoulders as they carefully skated him over to the bench, where the trainers took over helping him down the hallway. Ransom was tempted to follow him, but a raised eyebrow from Coach Hall reminded him there was still a game to play. While he’d been occupied the ref had sent the asshole winger off with a major for hooking, and Samwell’s power play lines were about to hit the ice.

Moments later, the final buzzer sounded. Bitty had scored on the power play off an assist from Ransom, handing Samwell the victory. Their celebration, however, was muted out of concern for their teammate. As soon as the handshakes were over, Ransom made a beeline for the dressing room, where he tugged off his skates before rushing to the trainers’ room still wearing the rest of his gear. He arrived to find Holster sitting on the bed, stripped down to his UnderArmor with icepacks on his knee, which was visibly swollen. He grabbed Holster’s shoulders in a hug, careful not to jostle his leg. As he was checking in with his bro, Chowder arrived sans leg pads and skates, radiating concern and apologizing on behalf of the goal.

“Wait,” Ransom interjected. “C, you’re not responsible for the goalpost being where it’s always been, blame this on the fucker who tripped him.”

“Yeah, C, you may be one with the posts during the game, but this was 100% not your fault, bro,” Holster confirmed.

“Ok,” Chowder eventually agreed, “but anything I can do to help you, anything at all, you just say the word.”

And with that, trainer Sara shoo-ed them out, sending the back to the dressing room to shower and change with promises they could return after she’d finished examining Holster’s knee.

_X_

Two and a half hours later, Holster slowly made his way up the Haus’ staircase. One arm was slung around Ransom’s shoulder as he half-lifted Holster up the stairs, and Chowder followed one step behind, one hand on Holster’s back for balance. A trip to the small local hospital allowed for X-rays that had shown no fractures, so the team doctor had arranged for an MRI in the city the next day. 

Once they reached the first floor landing they paused for rest and the bathroom (“Bro, once we’re in the attic we’re not coming all the way back down for you to brush your giant teeth, do it now.”), before continuing their awkward hop-shuffle up to the attic. With Holster safely perched on the lower bunk, Chowder ran back downstairs promising to get some of Bitty’s after-game peanut butter cookies for Holster as Ransom helped him tug off his tracksuit and prop his leg on a pillow. He tried to be as gentle as he could, but Holster still winced with the movement.

Shortly thereafter, cookies eaten and contacts out, Holster decided to call it a night, and Ransom helped him settle back on the bed. Once the pillows supporting the injured knee were arranged to his liking he turned to go, but was stopped by Holster’s hand grabbing his wrist.

“Stay?” Holster asked.

“Sure, if that’s what you want bro, let me just get the lights,” Ransom replied, doing so before carefully settling on his side beside Holster, whose injured knee was safely up against the wall.

They laid there for several moments, quietly breathing in the dark, before Holster finally spoke in an uncharacteristic near-whisper. “What if this is it? What if I blew my ACL, and I’m out for the rest of the season? This is our senior year, so what if this is it for me, no more hockey? I’m not ready for it to be over, I thought we still had another month at least, then the playoffs.”

Ransom couldn’t deny that similar thoughts had been racing through his anxious brain. He knew enough not to belittle his bro; knee injuries were the bane of hockey players’ careers. Taking a deep breath, he put his hand on Holster’s arm and tried to make his voice as reassuring as possible as he answered. “No matter what, I’ll be here with you, bro, we’ll figure it out together.”

“Thanks, dude,” Holster whispered before drifting off to sleep with an assist from the pain meds he’d received from the doc.

Ransom laid awake much longer, realizing that what he’d said was the absolute truth. Holster was the most important person in his life. As he laid there, tucked in next to him on a too-small bunk bed, he finally asked himself what Holster meant to him. He allowed himself to think of their past and future, and finally admitted to himself that his feelings could be romantic love, not just best-bro-love. The realization brought peace to his mind, and he followed Holster into sleep imagining a future together.

_X_

The next morning, Matt the trainer arrived bright and early to drive Holster to the city for his MRI, and was unsurprised that Ransom planned to join them. The Saturday morning traffic was light, and they made it to the hospital with time to spare. Holster’s knee was still sore, and he didn’t protest being directed into a wheelchair for Ransom to push him through the maze of hallways to diagnostic imaging. Registration completed, the clerk directed them to the changing room. “Are you Adam’s partner?” he asked. 

Ransom confirmed that he was, and was allowed to stay. Squeezed into the tiny changing room outside the imaging suite, Ransom helped Holster into a hospital gown that was way too short for his giant d-man self, barely reaching his mid thighs. After removing the tensor bandages to reveal the knee that was still giant and red, they sat to wait again.

“You know,” Holster began, “I think they were asking if you were my partner-partner, not my D-partner.”

Ransom looked into Holster’s eyes. Time for full honesty. “I’d be your partner in every way, if you’d have me.”

“Really?” Holster asked, eyes wide.

“Yeah.”

Before Holster could reply, a technician stepped into the hallway. “Adam Birkholtz? Time to come on in,” she said as she propped open the door so he could wheel himself through. “You can wait back out in the waiting room,” she instructed Ransom, “it’ll take a while.”

Forty-five minutes. 

That’s how long Ransom sat in the waiting room as Holster’s knee was being imaged, worrying alternately about what the MRI would find, and what Holster thought of his declaration of feelings. He wanted to pace, but kept himself in the seat next to Matt, knee jiggling. Had he really ruined everything with his bro? He hoped not, but …

Finally, Holster emerged from the back, still in the hospital gown but with a blanket over his lap. Matt directed them through the hospital to a clinic room where the knee specialist would see them. As they walked, Matt explained how the Samwell team doc had sweet-talked the radiologist and the orthopedic surgeon into be available on the weekend to urgently read the MRI and examine Holster, respectively. Once in the room Holster made it onto the small exam bed with a bit of help, leg stretched out in front of him, Ransom standing at his side. Matt stood at the doorway, keeping an eye out for Dr Wong, so Holster spoke quietly.

“Hey Justin?” he asked, reaching out his hand to softly touch Ransom’s hand. “I’d have you. I mean, I want that.”

“Partners?” Ransom asked.

“Partners. Dating. Whatever, so long as it’s with you.”

“Sap,” Ransom said, but still slid his hand to intertwine their fingers.

Minutes later, Dr Wong bustled into the room, followed by an exhausted-looking resident. After asking a few questions, they thoroughly examined Holster’s knee, poking, bending and twisting it as he grimaced and squeezed Ransom’s hand.

“Ok, I think we have good news for you, Adam. I’ve reviewed your MRI with Dr Chadra, and both the MRI and our exam now don’t show any evidence of a ligament injury. It seems you sustained a direct force to the front of the joint, and while your gear protected the patella from fracture, the impact was enough to cause bleeding within the bursa in front of the patella,” he explained, pulling up diagrams on his phone to demonstrate. “With the basics - ice, anti-inflammatories and rehab - I think you could be back on the ice in 2-3 weeks. Although that means you’ll be back in time to face off against my alma mater, BC, so maybe I should make you wait another week?” he finished with a laugh.

And with that, after a few specific instructions from the doc to Matt about the rehab plan and follow-up appointments, they were free to go. 

Ransom and Holster settled on a bench outside the entranceway as they waited for Matt who’d run to get the car. It was nearing noon, and the sun was out, a warm enough day for boys from Toronto and Buffalo to sit outdoors. As they waited, leaning together shoulder-to-shoulder, they chatted about the remainder of the season, and the chance that Holster could be back in time for the ECAC tournament playoffs. As they discussed the logistics of getting around campus on crutches, Ransom pulled out his phone to confirm Holster’s schedule and his eye caught on the date.

“Bro, tomorrow’s Valentines day. I should ... can I take you on a date? I’ll need to get back to you on the details, once I figure out where I can take you while on crutches, that hasn’t been reserved for weeks.”

“Such a romantic sap. Yes, you can take me anywhere, anytime,” Holster said with an atrocious waggle of his giant eyebrows.

“Dork.” 

“And yet you still want to date me.”

“I do,” Ransom confirmed.

“Well good, because I want to date you too. In fact, I think this is the perfect moment for a first kiss, don’t you?”

“Are you seriously imagining our lives as one of your romcoms right now?”

“Stop fighting it and kiss me, bro,” Holster insisted, leaning even closer.

And so Ransom did just that. Tilting his head to avoid Holster’s glasses, he pressed his lips to Holster’s in a soft kiss, before pulling back to see the giant grin on Holster’s face that surely matched his own. Leaning in again, his hand came up to Holster’s face, fingertips brushing against the day-old stubble he found there as he deepened the kiss.

The moment (and it really was an epic, screen-worthy, moment, Ransom had to admit) was interrupted by a brief toot of a horn. Matt had arrived with his car. Once the passenger seat was pushed forward as far as it would go, Holster slowly slid into the backseat, leg partially-extended in front of him. Ransom jogged around the car to slide into the backseat next to him, pressed up close against his best bro-now-date, fingers intertwined. 

Ransom was a planner, and this wasn’t at all in his plans when he woke up the day prior, but he realized there was nowhere else he’d rather be. He was with his favourite person, and they’d figure it all out -- Valentines, hockey, romance, life after Samwell -- together.

[teenyrps]

💘 + all of them ho

send me 💘 + A SHIP and i’ll tell you—

NARITY

where they first met and how: in a club in new york. nate was trying to hide from his surprise blind date and verity was trying to get her friends off her back. she propositioned him with the intent to ditch him the moment they made it outside, but even from the beginning, they’ve never been able to resist each other.

how long their ‘flirting’ phase was before feelings got involved: pretty sure nate was in love the moment he laid eyes on her. lest we forget he’s a FUCKIN SIMP.

who fell for who first: nate probably.

where their first date was and what it was like: battery park, i guess? nate was nervous, fumbling through dumb jokes, and probably got caught staring because he just couldn’t help himself. he thought about holding her hand the whole time, again, LIKE A SIMP.

who asks who out and how: they never had a moment where they were like “so we’re dating now, right?” they were just together.

who proposes first: nate.

if they keep / kept their relationship secret or let everyone know right away: they didn’t keep their relationship secret, they just didn’t feel as though it was anyone else’s business. they’re both private people, so if you saw them out together, cool. if not, cool. they’re too consumed with each other to really care.

where the proposal happens and how: first with a metal washer in his cousin’s nursery and then again at 5am, hungover, in his boxers after she’d ditched him for five days.

if they adopt any pets together: NORBERT THE GREMLIN

who’s more dominant: in life? verity. in bed? nate.

where their first kiss was and what it was like: i feel like nate probably would have tried to kiss her when they met up in battery park? whether or not she let him is another story, but he would have held her face in his hands with a sort of reverence he didn’t deserve to have after only knowing her for a few hours. it would have been soft and sweet to start and would have ended a little oooh is it hot in here

if they have any matching couples stuff: nah. they have shirts that match but only because verity steals his and wears them. he’s totally fine with it.

how into pda they are: they fuck in public ok.

who holds the umbrella when it rains: idk nate’s from washington, he probably only uses an umbrella a third of the time, he’s used to it. but he’d hold it for her because he lives to serve.

where their usual ‘date spot’ is: a bed, a wall, some random room at a party, a car. basically like a dr. seuss book.

who’s more protective: nate

how long it is before they sleep together: pretty sure verity made him wait a while. at least a month. maybe more. and you know he fkn waited.

if they argue about anything: they argue about everything. it’s forplay

who leaves more marks: oof, i don’t know, it might be pretty even?

who steals whose clothes and how often: verity steals his clothes always.

how they cuddle: i don’t feel like they have a favorite position? nate just always wants to be touching her

what their favourite nonsexual activity is: arguing

how long they stay mad at each other: sometimes minutes, sometimes years. it depends on the mood, i guess.

what their usual coffee / tea orders are: black. sometimes nate likes oat milk in his

if they ever have any children together: unfairity rip

if they have any special pet names for each other: nah. nate calls her baby but nothing gross like schnookums or w/e

if they ever split up and / or get back together: lmao, did you mean their entire relationship

what their shared living space is like: nate isn’t much of a decorator. when he lived alone, he was very minimalist bc he didn’t really care that much. so verity gets to take the lead with the decorating, which means gothic, artsy, high fkn class. he knows better than to fuck with her aesthetic

what their first christmas / hanukkah / etc as a couple was like: they prob just snuck off to bang

what their names are in each other’s phones: she’s in his as verity, he’s in hers as w/e she’s feeling about him that day. ned whiteforest, mortal enemy, etc

if they have any ‘couple traditions’: arguing?

who falls asleep first and who wakes up first: verity goes to sleep first (because she sleeps better when he’s in bed with her) and nate wakes up first. usually.

who’s the big spoon / little spoon: nate likes to be the big spoon but he doesn’t care as long as he’s touching her

who kills the spiders / takes them outside: i feel like nate would put a cup over it to deal with later bc he’s a lowkey bitch and verity would just be like FOR FUCKS SAKE and squish it with some toilet paper and call it a day

ALBEC

where they first met and how: either on the mission that sealed her fate with the pirates or shortly thereafter when she was taken back to the camp. either way, it wasn’t exactly pleasant

how long their ‘flirting’ phase was before feelings got involved: feelings were always involved. they were just feelings like annoyance and jealousy and frustration.

where their first date was and what it was like: idk i feel like maybe they get sent on a mission together and take a little detour, sneak a bottle of wine from somewhere and find a little place not completely covered in dust and sand and just get wine drunk and shit talk each other and laugh. and it wasn’t meant to be a date but the feeling sort of sneaks in halfway through, and there are a few lingering glances and shy smiles and even though both of them are having trouble keeping their eyes from falling to the other’s lips, it doesn’t end in a kiss. sexual tension baby

who asks who out and how: i’m still figuring out their dynamic but i feel like they’d start hanging out maybe and it’d feel like they were together but also not? and al would get so annoyed eventually she’d just demand that he tell her what they are 

who proposes first: beckett?

if they keep / kept their relationship secret or let everyone know right away: they’d probably keep it kind of secret, sneaking into each other’s rooms at night, finding reasons to wander away from camp, sharing secret smiles across the room.

where the proposal happens and how: good question! i’m glad you asked. idk

if they adopt any pets together: probably not

who’s more dominant: beckett probably. but al’s got a few surprises up her sleeve when she builds up some confidence and experience

where their first kiss was and what it was like: al shows up at beckett’s room after rolling around in bed unable to sleep. she stalks to his room, flustered and annoyed and she’s not really sure what she’s doing there or what she’s going to say when he opens the door, so she just sort of opens and closes her mouth for a moment and then just attacks his face with her face. because who needs words.

if they have any matching couples stuff: no

how into pda they are: probably not very? part of the fun might be in keeping it secret, anyway

who holds the umbrella when it rains: beckett is way taller than al so probs him. if they use them at all

where their usual ‘date spot’ is: they don’t have a usual spot, just somewhere with the least amount of dust

who’s more protective: beckett

how long it is before they sleep together: a long time

if they argue about anything: beckett likes to push her buttons, so they argue a lot

who leaves more marks: maybe al 👀

who steals whose clothes and how often: she probably steals a shirt to sleep in from time to time

how they cuddle: successfully.

what their favourite nonsexual activity is: playful shit talking <3

how long they stay mad at each other: al pretends to stay mad but he’s a charming idiot so it’s hard

what their usual coffee / tea orders are: another good question. don’t know

if they ever have any children together: i don’t actually feel like al wants to have children? not in the world as it is now

if they have any special pet names for each other: idk does idiot count?

if they ever split up and / or get back together: i don’t feel like they’d be an on/off couple?

what their shared living space is like: a little messy, a few plants, nothing too furnished because they’re always moving around.

what their first christmas / hanukkah / etc as a couple was like: al handmade him something, spent a lot of time on it and second-guessed herself the whole time. beckett pretended to like it even if he didn’t. or he totally roasted her. who knows

what their names are in each other’s phones: he’s in hers as just eyeroll emojis. he’s probably got some nickname for her that annoys her in his

if they have any ‘couple traditions’: training?

who falls asleep first and who wakes up first: al probably goes to sleep and wakes up first

who’s the big spoon / little spoon: al would enjoy being the little spoon i think

who kills the spiders / takes them outside: al would herd it into a cup or container and set it free. she’d probably even tell it to enjoy it’s freedom and call it ‘little buddy’

REVINIA 

you already did this and it was perfect???? 

[liloelsagranger]

Viridian Love Story - Chapter 6: The necklace

Hey my friends, I’m back...with a new chapter of my current fanfiction “Viridian Love Story”. How’s everyone? Please, enjoy! Chapter 6: The necklace «What's wrong with her?» James couldn't understand her reaction. They had been on a razor's edge, were able to talk their heads off, so that Giovanni merely condemned them to a suspension, no reason for pessimism. Meowth shook his head, landing on James' shoulder in one bound. «Yous put all the blame on her, she had to take the rap for the mess all three of us have made. Yous betrayed her trust. If I were her, I'd be miffed, too. Of course our Jessie can be moody, but this time I understand her completely. She's bailed you out so many times. Saved you from love-struck spirits and spared no effort to accept you as you are, in your very wretched way. Good luck in your attempt to rebuild that trust.» Meowth jumped off James' shoulder to leave him alone with his thoughts. James was thunderstruck. Only now did scales fall from his eyes. This woman had saved his life several times. She got him out of his personal prison. She taught him to laugh and feel joy again. She brought him out of the deepest and darkest holes without asking much in return. He had more than lost her trust. He had, so to speak, thrown her to the dogs and laid the burden of guilt on her. His remorse seemed to overwhelm him. James had to save their friendship or what was left of it. Misty ran through the deserted corridors, desperately looking for Jessie. The Team Rocket member may have answers to her burning questions. Where did Jessie get that necklace? Did she know Misty's mother? Were Misty's parents still alive? Ash came towards her. He seemed to be completely agitated, as if he had spent the last few hours trying to sort out his feelings. «There you are, Misty! I have something important to tell you. I think I'm in love with you. When I was a child I couldn't imagine being your boyfriend, but now, soon grown up and more mature behind the ears, I would like to ask you to join me, this time as my girlfriend» He blushed to the roots of his hair, but he had not expected this answer. «That's all well and good, Ash. I'm glad you like me. But can we do this another time? I'm in a hurry,» she scurried off, without giving him another glance. Jessie took a break at a small stream not far from the campus. She tried to swallow all her anger, she tried to hold back tears of disappointment. How could she have been so wrong about James? Through thick and thin from here to eternity? His promise sounded like a tasteless joke. He had betrayed her all along the line. Angrily, she wiped the hot tears from her face. She wanted to shout out her despair into the world, but humiliation stifled her voice. She listened to the quiet murmur of the stream, completely lost in thought and far from a brutal reality. «Jessie!» A faint voice caught her attention. It wasn't James who called her. « Jessie ! Here you are» Jessie could make out the outlines of a young woman in the dark. «What do you want, twerp?» Misty approached the Team Rocket member, kneeled down next to her and let a gush of questions rain down on her. «Jessie! I need to know! Where did you get that necklace? Who gave it to you? What do you know about it ? » Jessie rolled her eyes in annoyance. Was a little privacy too much to ask for? «That's none of your business, kid! Besides, since when is a frumpy girl like you interested in jewelry?» She grinned at Misty dismissively. «Jessie, it's really important! Listen to me! This necklace belonged to my mother. I need to know where you found it, where you stole it ! » Slowly but surely, Misty got impatient. How could someone be so cold and not show any empathy? «Don't you understand? I need to find my family and this necklace is the first clue in years, please, Jessie» Misty desperatley tried to squeeze some words out of Jessie, but she stubbornly resisted. «Family is overrated, kid» Jessie turned to leave, but Misty held her back. « Don't you have someone you care about, Jessie? Someone you love and need in your life ? Someone you'd miss if they were gone?» There was a shred of feeling in every person, even in a lunatic woman like Jessie. The Team Rocket member paused and thought about Misty's words. James had once been everything to her, the faithful man at her side, but this picture was more than shattered. «No, I don't!» Jessie tore loose from Misty's grip and ran further into the thicket of the forest. «Jessie, wait!» Misty followed her into the deep woods. They wandered around aimlessly, got lost in the pitch black night and didn't realize that they had long since strayed off the marked path. The lurking ghost Pokémon were already looking forward to their new loot. «I don't know where she is, Meowth!» Hoping to settle the dispute, James had set out to find his friend. He and Meowth searched every corner of the university, looked in every single room, but found nothing. She dropped off the face of the earth, no trace of Jessie. Shortly thereafter, the Team Rocket agents could hear familiar voices calling through the night. Armed with flashlights, Ash and Brock searched the campus, until they ran into old acquaintances. «Team Rocket! What are you up to again? Where's Misty? Tell us, right now!» Ash was beside himself with worry. Who else could be responsible for Misty's disappearance than this thieving gang up to no good? «We could ask you the same thing! Have you seen Jessie ? » James took a step towards the young students, but before he could add anything, a shrill scream broke the silence. « Jessie ! » James exclaimed. « Misty ! » Ash ran for the exit. « We need to find them, they might be in danger!» James' heart was beating out of his chest. He did not want to imagine that Jessie had put herself in danger because of his rotten behaviour. All four of them followed the blood curdling screams deep into the forest, stumbling over roots, sinking up to their knees into bog pools. But nothing and nobody could stop them, her friends were in trouble.«Help us!» Misty's cry for help echoed throught the night. «Somebody, please!» Jessie's voice broke. Only a short time later, Ash, Brock, James and Meowth reached a clearing at the end of the forest. The sight they saw made their blood freeze in their veins. There were Misty and Jessie, chained together by invisible forces, surrouned by a horde of Gastlys, Haunters and Gengars who danced around their victims in a trance-like state. « It's all my fault,» James sank to the floor. «No time for self-pity, James!» Brock reached out his hand and helped James to his feet. The ghost Pokémon swayed up and down areound their prey, laughing in the face of their fear. «How can we get them out? Ghost Pokémon are almost invulnerable, we need a diversion» Ash said and looked around in the forest for a way to attract the attention of the spookables. The spirits screamed and mimicked the cries for help of their victims. Jessie tried to free herself from the bonds, but failed miserably. James could no longer watch this grotesque spectacle. He threw himself into the fray without thinking. « James, no ! » Brock wanted to hold him back, but too late. He waded through the sea of purple lights, struggled to make his way forward and was attacked by the ghost Pokémon. They tried to lick his face, they gave him shadow punches, they wanted to get rid of him by all means, but despite the immense pain James was in, he was completely focused on his goal. «He won't survive» Ash and Brock could only stand by and watch James' rescue attempt. James fought on, soon he would reach the center of the ectoplasm. All he had to do was reach out for Jessie, untie her, and carry her out. The gruesome Pokémon used Destiny Bond to make him faint, but James held out, ducked and dodged their attacks. Ash had to rush to his aid. He ordered Pikachu to send in a massive thunder shock, hoping to at least distract the spirits, if not paralize them. Only a few inches separated James from Misty, he could almost touch her fingers. The thunderclap had thrown the ghost Pokémon out of concentration, the bonds were loosened for a split second. James grabbed Misty and pulled her to him. Ash crawled to them and dragged her out of the crossfire. Jessie was still lying there, surrounded by the ghostly creatures who wanted to harm her, since she had entered their territory unauthorized and disturbed their peace. Gengar formed a big black spookball, ready to fire it at Jessie, but James got in his way. He covered Jessie's body and intercepted the attack. Another thunderclap cut through the night. The ghost Pokémon felt threatened and slowly fled away. What was left behind were Jessie and James, huddled and staring in fear. James coughed and spluttered. «I'm fine» he whispered. Jessie took a deep breath. They had barely escapted their end. «What brought your here?» Brock wanted to know. Misty was shaking all over. «I wanted answers. The necklace that Jessie weares belonged to my mother. So where did you get it?» Jessie looked at James questioningly. «Tell them, James. You gave it to me years ago in Kalos . » You could tell that James was very uncomfortable talking about it. « Well, I got it from the treasure trove at Team Rocket Headquarters». Jessie snorted contemptuously. «Is that what I'm worth to you?» Misty interrupted them. «How did that necklace get into the treasure trove? Why do you keep civilian items in it ? « James shied away from an answer. « Well, all belongings and valuables are taken from people who might have information about Mew. Their belongings will be taken away before they're sent for interrogation and subsequent deportation.» Misty's eyes widened. «Does that mean my mother could still be alive?»

[mobius-prime]

206. Sonic the Hedgehog #138

Return to Angel Island (Part 1): The Message

Writer: Karl Bollers Pencils: Jon Gray Colors: Jason Jensen

We're in for a big one, guys! This is another four-parter, and it's time to finally find out what's going on on Angel Island! But first, Sally and Sonic have to deal with the blowback from the king about their little Tommy mission. King Max chews them out for a while, with Sally tersely accepting the scolding, but Sonic actually attempts to cover for Sally by lying (badly) that she only came along because he kidnapped her. Of course, the king doesn't believe him, and after coldly calling into question Sally's ability to rule in his stead when they leave on their tour, he sends them off.

Yikes. Seems things are going to stay frosty between these two for a while. That afternoon, the king and queen, along with Uncle Chuck as their advisor and Antoine as their bodyguard, depart for their world tour. Shortly thereafter, everyone is hanging out in Chuck's diner, which is currently being manned by Jules and Bernie, while Sonic confides in Knuckles and Julie-Su about his troubles with Sally. Julie-Su points out that Sally's feelings are understandable to a degree, as she herself struggled for a long time after Knuckles' return from the grave with feeling comfortable about him going back into battle. The conversation is interrupted by a sudden crash at the door, and everyone is shocked to see a badly injured Charmy and Saffron enter the establishment and immediately collapse. They're immediately taken to receive medical attention, and after that Sally questions the two on what exactly happened. Charmy and Saffron relate, stricken by grief, how Eggman attacked their home at the Goldenhive Colony, and try as they might, they failed to save anyone - and they mean literally anyone. Their parents, all their friends, every single other member of the colony is dead now. I have to say, while this is certainly an… effective way of kicking to the curb Kenders' weird plans to shunt Charmy away from the spotlight, it's also an incredibly brutal way. I mean, how many others here have lost literally everyone they care about? Oh, wait, Knuckles is getting there! Fittingly, at that exact moment a transmission comes through on the Technolo-Tree, but the only thing that can be made out through the static is that Locke is apparently being held prisoner on Angel Island. And at that moment, Knuckles' patience, so carefully maintained just a couple issues ago, finally snaps.

Sally, you have to remember that it's been almost an entire year that he's been off his island, and he knows he still has friends and family stuck there, with Eggman doing who knows what to them. Can you blame him for wanting to rescue literally the only home he's ever known from Eggman's brutal occupation? Sonic sheepishly leaves with Knuckles, and together they, Julie-Su, the Chaotix (back together again! Also this time including Ray, who's been severely sidelined for quite some time now, and Saffron), and Bunnie all pile into the FFS and fly to Angel Island. Bunnie remains behind at Sonic's request, since he wants to make sure Sally still has a heavy hitter watching over Knothole while they're gone, and everyone else airdrops in, landing in the Marble Garden Zone. Sonic races away to do some split-second recon, and comes back with some pretty horrendous news - there's an honest-to-god prison camp not far from there location, sponsored by Eggman, run by dingoes, and filled with enslaved echidnas being worked half to death by their captors. So, naturally, the intrepid infiltrators race directly in and start causing some havoc.

Okay, this is something I've danced around for quite a while now, but… I really don’t like the portrayal of the dingoes as this weird military hive mind. Penders very obviously based them off of Nazi Germany in many ways (like… as we saw before in KtE#22, his hints toward this weren't subtle at all), and I believe he's even said that he deliberately only ever showed male dingoes, avoiding portraying women and children among their ranks, so they didn’t appear too sympathetic. Quite aside from the fact that that's a kind of ridiculous and sexist position to take especially given that one of the comic's current most threatening villains is in fact female, this just turns the dingoes into cardboard cutouts of villains instead of an interesting opposing faction in this world's political landscape. I mean, how much more interesting would they be if the story bothered to humanize them, make them relatable? But of course, that would mean that Penders would have to portray his precious echidna society as less than honorable for discriminating against them, and we can't have that, so instead they're all just military hardasses who love xenophobia and hate democracy. Hell, even the actual Nazis had more depth to their evil actions than the dingoes. And, to be fair, I know that this arc is written by Karl, not Penders, but he's just building on everything that Penders has established here, so I'm still putting the blame on Penders.

Anyway, the heroes make quick work of the dingoes stationed in the camp, though Knuckles takes a bad blow that Sonic has to save him from due to his lack of powers. Knuckles begins to protest at being helped, but he's suddenly drowned out by chanting… from the echidna slaves they've just freed. They're all bowing down to him and calling him the Avatar, hailing his return. A flabbergasted Knuckles spots Remington among the crowd and asks him what the hell is going on, and Remington explains that there's been a bit of a, eh, religious revival shall we say, among the echidnas on the island ever since he returned from the dead. Apparently, there's an old prophecy from the Ancient Walkers stating that someone will come back from the dead and deliver everyone on the island from their suffering, and, well, Knuckles fits the first part of that criteria. However, he'd barely come back from the dead before Eggman made his move on the island a year ago, preventing Knuckles from returning until now.

So things have kind of deteriorated to a severe degree in Knuckles' absence. Echidnaopolis is now Dingo City, and the dingoes are led not by General Stryker, who is conspicuously absent, but instead General Kage, a cyborg underling of Eggman's in charge of finding the Master Emerald somewhere on the island. Of course that's what Eggman is really after here, and they've captured Locke with the intention of getting the location from him one way or the other. He's been chained upside down in some dark room, and Kage has been torturing him nonstop for the past few days trying to get him to crack, to no avail. Eggman merely encourages Kage over video call to keep it up, while we transition to the Lava Reef Zone, which is where Knuckles has led all the rescued echidnas to, away from the prison camp. He's here because this is approximately where the message informing him of his father's capture originated from, but suddenly the group finds themselves surrounded by smoke, and out of the smoke steps an army of Dark Legion soldiers, surrounding them with weapons drawn…

Mobius 25 Years Later: My Dinner with Sonic

Writer: Ken Penders Pencils: Steven Butler Colors: Jason Jensen

…but who cares about all that interesting plot stuff when we can watch some forty-something moms chat next to a pool where their annoying kids and husbands are playing? Apparently, despite their husbands' rivalry, Julie-Su and Sally have actually become pretty good friends over the years, and lament that they barely get together anymore because of Knuckles and Sonic's hatred of one another. Sally is upset because of how distant Sonic has been acting lately - according to her, he barely talks to anyone he doesn't have to anymore, including Tails, whom he hasn’t spoken to in three whole years now! Excuse me, what?! Okay, Sonic and Knuckles at least have some precedent for their rivalry, however weak that precedent is, but I cannot even begin to imagine a world where Sonic just straight up ghosts his best friend for apparently no reason. Literally, no reason is given! He just doesn't like Tails anymore now! Also, in this timeline, Tails is married to Mina and he's moved to Downunda, because why the hell not? Who needs to make sense or give reasons for anything in their plot? Oh, but that's not all! If you thought that was the extent of Sonic's incredibly out-of-character writing, you thought wrong!

That's right - Sonic the forty-one-year-old father, war hero, and king of an entire nation is apparently so petty about not being able to hit a volleyball in the pool that he thinks it's acceptable to shove his own young son under the water so he can get to the ball instead. And this isn't just some case of me taking these panels out of context - on the very next page Manik rightfully calls him out on this, only for Sonic to irritably say that Manik has been "getting in his face all afternoon" and that this was the only way he could get to play with the ball. And then, just as if to rub this in our horrified faces, Knuckles also comes over and points out how terrible of an action this is, and when Manik speaks up SONIC FORCES HIM UNDER THE WATER AGAIN TO GET HIM TO STOP TALKING. I just… I cannot even begin to express how bad this is. This is literally the opposite of Sonic the Hedgehog. You cannot get further off the mark than Penders just has right here. Everything about Sonic's characterization in this arc is bad and inaccurate to who he really is, but this interaction right here is the cake topper, the prime example of just how much Penders does not understand the characters he is trying to write. I can pinpoint this as the exact moment I lost all remaining respect for Penders as a writer. I've defended him before, and I stand by my opinions that I do enjoy many of his earlier stories for the comic, but this is a goddamn travesty. Penders. Needs. To. Stop.

*sigh* We have to finish today's issue, so let's… let's just get to the end. Everyone goes inside for dinner, with Sonia and Manik heading out to play with Lara-Su while the adults have dinner together, because apparently they're so stuffy they don't even let their own kids eat with them. Knuckles and Sonic start arguing at the table, big shocker there, while Abby desperately tries to serve them dessert and their boring wives try to rein them in.

Are we gonna hear anything about what the "drone problem" or the "Overlander uprising" entailed? Those sound too interesting, so NOPE! Instead, the kids walk by and overhear the argument and promise each other they'll never fight like their parents do, while Manik tries to put the moves on Lara-Su, who is not having it. The argument ends when both Knuckles and Sonic belch simultaneously while their wives scold them disapprovingly - I think Penders is trying to go for a comedy movie sketch type thing here where classical music ramps up in hilarious intensity behind the bickering over the family dinner before everything ends on a few sharp notes from the string section, but it just comes off as utterly cringeworthy. Knuckles finally - finally! - manages to get to the point of this entire arc, which is to tell Sonic about how the world is ending. Yes, it took this long for him to tell the main character of this goddamn comic about the main conflict of this goddamn arc. Kill me. Someone please kill me.

…are you kidding me?! You mean all this time we could have been exploring the ramifications of a planetwide environmental disaster caused by dimensional travel, and the possibility of having to evacuate the planet's population into space, and instead we got to watch two boring husbands belch at each other over goddamn dinner?! I'm done. I'm so done. Everything about this sucks and I hate it. Ken Penders, if I ever see you in person, I will be throwing these hands.

[dogbearinggifts]

“Dad Sent Me to the Moon” vs. “Because Dad Made Me”

How Luther and Vanya Talk About Trauma, Part Three 

Before I begin my analysis of Episode 4, I feel I should warn you: I kinda break my own rule here. Namely, I said in the beginning that I would compare Luther’s mentions of his time on the Moon to Vanya’s mentions of her exclusion, and sort of implied I’d leave it at that. But after seeing how Luther approaches his own forcible mutation, and thinking on it for a while, I concluded that I can’t limit Luther’s trauma mentions to the Moon. The moment where Reginald mutates him without his consent and leaves him alone to adjust is too pivotal for his character, the way he talks about it reveals a lot about how he regards his own trauma in general, and it actually sets up an interesting contrast for how he addresses his time on the Moon after the big reveal in Episode 6. 

So, from now on, if Luther or another character brings up his mutation, I’ll include it in my trauma counts. If it turns out I’d forgotten about another trauma Vanya addresses later in the series, I’ll add that one in too. 

Part One

Part Two

Episode 4: Man on the Moon

The first trauma mention in this episode is brief, and it comes while Vanya is walking with Leonard to rehearsal. 

Leonard: You’re doing it again.  Vanya: Force of habit. It’s just—when I was a kid, I felt like I had to apologize for even breathing.  Leonard: Tell me about it. I don’t think my dad ever forgave me for being born. 

Once again, we see Vanya bringing up her own trauma. Although this mention is  more appropriate to the conversation at hand, its presence reveals a lot about how Vanya approaches her painful childhood. 

First of all, we see her, once again, using it to explain her own behavior. Why does she apologize all the time? Because when she was a kid, she felt like she had to apologize for her own existence. She was made to feel guilty for taking up space in a house filled with young demigods, and that habit has followed her into adulthood. 

However, this also shows the progress she’s made in processing her own trauma: She is able to connect her present behavior to her past scars, and she understands how the latter influences the former. Even without her offer to Five to recommend a therapist she’d seen, this remark would be enough of a hint for viewers to surmise she had either seen a therapist or read some quality self-help books. That therapist, whoever she was, helped Vanya untangle some of her childhood and get a clearer idea of why she approaches relationships the way she does. It’s unclear whether Vanya always understood (on some level) that the abuse was not her fault, or if the therapist she saw helped her see that, but either way, the result is the same: Vanya knows that what happened to her was not her fault, and that influences the way she talks about it. 

But most of all, this snippet shows just how readily Vanya addresses her own trauma. She’s not shy about bringing it into a conversation—and not always as a swipe at her sister. Here, she’s not trying to remind Leonard that he was shitty to her in the past; she’s simply telling him what she knows about herself so he can understand her better. And Leonard brings up a bit about his own painful childhood, so they commiserate. This isn’t a bad thing, in the real world. Trauma and abuse survivors often benefit greatly from sharing their experiences and learning that they’re not alone. The fact Vanya feels comfortable addressing her trauma with someone she trusts is not in itself bad. The fact she’s chosen to trust a manipulative pile of walking garbage with a face is. 

************

Shortly thereafter, Allison wakes Luther to show him what happened to Grace. Luther’s reaction is, to put it lightly, subdued—he shows little emotion and his statements are matter-of-fact. 

Allison: Poor Diego. I mean, this is gonna be so hard on him.  Luther: It’s hard on all of us.  Allison: Luther? Are you okay? I mean, you know you can talk to me.  Luther: I don’t want to discuss it.  Allison: Hey, no. Don’t do that. Don’t shut me out. When I left, you were still… I mean, what…what happened?  Luther: Dad sent me on a mission. And it went…badly. I almost died. He saved my life.  Allison: Why didn’t you tell me? I could’ve helped you through it.  Luther: I was fine. All right? I am fine. I don’t need any help.  Allison: People are attacking our family. I mean, come on. Talk to me.  Luther: I can’t. I…please. Just leave me alone. 

Here we see the first onscreen mention of Luther’s mutation, and—as with the first onscreen mention of his time on the Moon—it is Allison who brings it up first. And in a similar vein, Luther’s answers are brief, although with the Moon, Luther waxed poetic about the sunrise and his “world turning to white glass.” His answers here, in contrast, could almost be considered bare-minimum sort of answers—he’s saying as little as he can while still answering the question. 

It’s clear that Allison is trying to help. Luther gave her space to talk about her power abuse before; now she is giving him space to talk about his mutation. And he rejects the invitation. She accepted his help prior to this; now he’s saying “I don’t need any help. I’m fine.” And it would be easy to dismiss this exchange as Luther not wanting to appear weak, or as him not caring about what happened to him—but both of those assumptions would be off the mark. 

We learn later that Reginald considered Luther’s mutation a failure on his part. It was an emergency procedure undertaken to pull Luther back from the brink of death, and at the time Reginald likely had no idea what all of the side effects would be. He only learned the hard way, once Luther awoke to find his body was, for all intents and purposes, gone and replaced with a new one. And don’t think I’m defending Reginald here; if he had no idea what would happen, staying with his son until he awoke, ensuring he had someone there to explain it to him and keep him from panic, was the very least he could do, and he didn’t even do that much. 

Now, imagine what the recovery must have been like for Luther. The procedure would’ve been explained to him at some point—maybe by Reginald, maybe by Grace or Pogo—but he knows why he looks the way he does, so he must have heard it from someone. He knows it was necessary to save his life. He knows he’d be dead if it hadn’t happened. But if Reginald considered it a failure, how did that impact his relationship with Luther? Did he never look at his son again without disappointment filling his eyes? Did he simply avoid Luther from that point on, refusing to look at the reminder of how badly he’d miscalculated on that serum? Did he send Luther on mission after mission just to get him out of the house, or did he sequester him away from the world, barking orders to get back to training every time Luther crossed his path? Is he the one who told Luther to hide his body beneath that overcoat, or did Luther choose it himself in response to the shame his Dad taught him to feel? 

Grace and Pogo wouldn’t have been abusive toward Luther, true. But they wouldn’t have been supportive, either. Judging by an earlier conversation with Diego, it seems Grace’s programming will not allow her to speak badly of Reginald, and Pogo is always careful to avoid saying anything that might be construed as ingratitude. Grace would have gone on treating Luther the way she always had, and Pogo would probably have done much the same, but neither would have been available if he needed to vent. Neither would have listened if he’d needed to cry, or scream, or shout obscenities at his dad. They could have given him a refuge from Reginald’s shame and abuse, but they couldn’t have given him what he really needed: someone to say “Holy shit, Luther, that’s fucked up. You don’t deserve all that.”  

With all that in mind, it’s no wonder he is, to borrow Allison’s words, shutting her out. It’s the only way he knows to deal with that trauma. Just shut it out and keep going. But I’d like to note exactly what he says there: “I can’t.” 

This line, to me, shows two things: self-awareness and an acknowledgment of past attempts to come to terms. He’s had time to go over what was done to him—several years, in fact—and it seems he’s tried to find some sort of closure. But he never could. He was never given the tools to do so, because the one tool he needed—an acknowledgement that his dad was abusive—was always withheld from him. His emotions are a jumble of internalized shame and anger and self-loathing and resentment and gratitude, but he can’t untangle the knot and every attempt just leaves him in more pain than he was before. So he leaves the knot alone. It’s not a good solution by any stretch, but it’s all he has. 

***********

Not too long later, we see a very different reaction to Luther’s mutation, when Luther is going through Five’s room in search of clues and Diego happens by. I apologize for the length of this quote, but I don’t think a shorter one conveys everything worth discussing here. 

Luther: Do you know about Mom?  Diego: Well, looks like you got what you wanted. One way or another, right?  Luther: Want to tell me what you’re doing here?  Diego: Looking for Five.  Luther: Oh, and let me guess, you’re gonna save the day.  Diego: It’s what I do. Asshole.  Luther: Really? Last I checked, you mopped floors.  Diego: And what do you do? Sit on the Moon, for four years, waiting for orders? Pogo: Boys! This won’t help us find Five!  Diego: Keep on being a loyal soldier? After everything our father did to you? Luther: You mean save my life?  Diego: No, I mean….turn you into a monster.  Luther pauses a few seconds, then drives his fist through the wall near Diego’s head.  Diego: Can’t hide it anymore, champ.  Luther: He had a difficult decision to make and he made it.  Diego: Grow up, Luther, we’re not thirteen anymore.  Luther: That’s what leaders do, by the way.  Diego: He sent you on that mission all alone. Almost got you killed.  Luther: Yeah, well, at least he was there. Where were you? You and everyone else in this family? You walked out.  Diego: And thank Christ that I did, or I would’ve ended up just like you. Pause Let me ask you a question. When you watch one of those nature shows…does it turn you on? 

If you want to, you can look at this conversation as both a response to Diego’s trauma and a mention of Luther’s, but the mention of Diego’s trauma is so brief and the subject changes so quickly that I won’t count it. However, I will note that the argument begins with a simple, non-accusatory question from Luther: He wants to know if Diego heard the bad news about Grace. That’s all he asks, but Diego turns it into a dig at Luther, which prompts the argument. 

Now, I apologize ahead of time if I get off-topic for a minute, but this scene is one of the most cannibalized in the fandom. Those who dislike Luther to begin with cherry-pick his worst moments—mocking Diego for mopping floors, punching through the wall—and pass them around as if they are things Luther did entirely unprovoked because he’s that much of an asshole. But that is not what happens here. The scene begins with Diego twisting a simple inquiry into a swipe at Luther—for no real reason I can see, aside from Diego’s unresolved anger toward the rivalry Reginald introduced to their relationship—and escalates into an argument when Diego deliberately tries to enrage Luther. 

Knowing Diego, and knowing what he says of Reginald before and after this argument, it’s clear that his digs at Luther have a purpose: He wants Luther angry not at him, but at Reginald. He wants Luther to see that Reginald was the villain and get him to place the blame for his problems where it belongs. But the end does not, in any way, justify the means Diego chooses to employ. 

Think about how little Luther says to Allison regarding his mutation. “Dad sent me on a mission. And it went badly. I almost died. He saved my life.” How he tells her not just that he doesn’t want to talk about it, but that he can’t. Think back to the lengths he went to in order to hide it. Unless Reginald kept the Academy at a temperature more suited for snowmen than for people, it can’t be comfortable to wear that overcoat indoors all the time. Think about the way he stared at his body in the mirror, as if it were an unwanted stranger. Luther might have come to accept accept his body on the most basic “I’m stuck this way so there’s no point trying to change it” level, but he certainly is not okay with it. 

So what does Diego resort to in order to get a rise out of him? Body-shaming. 

I don't think it’s possible to overstate how devastating this is for Luther. If you watch this scene again, pay attention to his expressions. He’s angry, yes, but he’s also hurt. Diego has found his sore spot and is stabbing at it repeatedly—similar to the way Leonard later tries to enrage Vanya with chants of “Ordinary! Less than ordinary! Not special!” And just as the attack on Vanya comes from a man she thought she trusted and loved, the attack on Luther comes from his own brother. It’s not just devastation Luther is feeling; it’s betrayal. 

***********

Running count of trauma mentions (cumulative of all episodes thus far)

Own Trauma: Vanya 3, Luther 3  Trauma of Others: Vanya 1, Luther 1

Read on to Part Four

[theharellan]

Apodyopsis: The act of mentally undressing someone I mean that’s what this was meant to be. Solas x Ian (@theshirallen). Suggestive themes.

Minutes pass in the span of a sigh, the passage of time unimpeded by their tryst. This world is apathetic to their affection, the stone floor beneath their feet the same as it was when they awoke that morning. Solas reminds himself of this in the gap between their kisses, centers himself in reality before he loses himself in Ian’s. They stand toe-to-toe in the center of the room-- their room. The sun has set, their surroundings lit by candles that had gasped to life when he wasn’t looking. Everything is cast in warm colours, a halo glows around the crown of Ian’s head, through the wispy ends of his hair. When their eyes meet, he smiles, and the laugh lines around his eyes smile with him.

“You’re staring,” Ian says with a breathy giggle, his eyes fluttering toward the corner of the room before they return to him.

“Am I?”

Solas finds himself drifting, head bowing to brush Ian’s. He still smells of Skyhold’s gardens, of elfroot and sweet alyssum, and though the sun had long since dipped below the horizon, Ian’s scent carries its memory. Hands cup the back of his neck and pull him the rest of the way down, parted lips there to greet him. He sinks against him, forcing back the urge to smile at how eager Ian is to slip his tongue between his teeth. It is not always he is so daring, though it has been more often, of late. Perhaps Ian had at last noticed how his blood runs hotter, his whole body flushed pink. He strains against the fingers at the nape of his neck, just to feel them resist, drawing him deeper.

Their kiss breaks with two quiet gasps. The next is placed at the corner of his lip, a taste of where Ian’s affection may wander. Then, his jaw, then Ian sways forward on his toes to reach beneath the lobe of his ear. He giggles and sways forward, laughter tickling his neck, daring him to laugh. His mouth draws a thin line, hands moving to check his sides before Ian falls forward. Undeterred, the gentle lips at his neck turn to teeth, unafraid to pull.

The thumb at Ian’s waist slips beneath his shirt, stroking the outline of his hipbone. He shivers under it, pleasure warm against Solas’ throat. He contents himself a while with teasing forays just over his waistband, blindly exploring while Ian peppers his neck with nips that may bloom into purple flowers the next morning. Fingertips ghost over the fine trail of hair that grows up from below his waist, refamiliarising himself with the way Ian feels to the touch, without his eyes to aid him.

But Ian’s confidence is contagious, and inspires bold action. Fingers curl around the uneven hem of his shirt, the intention clear, but difficult to protest without words to couple with. He tucks his lips beside Ian’s ear, brushing the tip before he poses his question: “May I?”

Ian goes tense beneath his palms, though it isn’t the same as a moment ago. Gone are the short, breathy sighs, the tension that begs to be released, succeeded by a sharp intake of breath that finds no relief. “Solas--” he lets out half of it, speaking his name as if it were an apology. “I, ahn, I...” Solas waits, ears pushed forward to catch even the softest of refusals. “I’m--”

It is as close to ‘no’ as he fears he will get this evening, boldness fleeing from Ian. He drops his hand to his hips, smoothing down the wrinkled ends of his top. Once he may not have recognised it for what it was, now it is stark as night and day. “Say no more,” he says, straining a reassuring smile for Ian’s sake.

What he dreads is not the refusal, but the moment where all the warmth drains from the room, and Ian withdraws from him with an apology on is lips. They always come together later, his arms falling across his chest beneath the covers, folding over Solas’ heart, but he does not relish the uncomfortable in-between. It isn’t his fault, nor is it Ian’s, neither asked for this nor inflicted it upon the other. That knowledge, however, does not assuage the guilt that closes around his throat.

Tonight, no apology comes. Ian’s arms pull him closer, face pressing against his naked chest as he breathes in through his nose. Outside, Solas hears the sounds of Skyhold in the late evening, the distant prayer of the faithful from the gardens below and the rush of magic through the valley, racing the wind. The room’s warmth is not chased away, but nestled safely between them, nurtured by their heartbeats. Ian pulls his face away, lifting his gaze to meet his, soft resolve behind his eyes. “Can you--” He cuts himself off, teeth press into his bottom lip as he rethinks what he wants to say. “Give me a moment, please?”

A simple enough request. He nods, head bowing an inch to press his lips against Ian’s brow before he pulls away. The cool rushes in where Ian’s arms were wrapped around him, and a quiet longing steals over him as he pads towards the foot of their bed. He settles down, mattress sinking under his weight, naked heels flat against the floor. Ian angles his back away to the far corner of the room, elbows bending at sharp angles while his hands gather the bottom of his shirt together. It would be easy, Solas thinks, to summon the memory of undressing Ian, but even staring feels like an invasion he needs express permission to indulge, and so he averts his gaze, but he cannot mistake the sound. His shirt flutters to the floor, his pants follow shortly thereafter, whispering against his skin as he pulls them down his legs.

Bare feet move across the floor, hesitating for a step before they come to a halt between his legs. “You can look up, now,” Ian murmurs. He leans over, taking one of Solas’ hands and guiding it toward his hips. His eyes follow, skirting up naked skin to meet Ian’s eye.

Apprehension creases his brow, the unshakable feeling that Ian would push himself to stave off his disappointment creeps over him. “Are you certain?” His other hand find uneasy purchase upon his waist, thumb stroking small circles into his skin. He hopes to see not a trace of doubt in Ian’s expression, but then, that would not be who he fell for, would it?

Doubt aside, there is determination in his smile, a hint of confidence that had not left him yet. “Yes,” he says, “you can trust me.”

The response elicits emotion deeper than the pleasure he seeks in Ian’s body. Indeed it almost makes him cry, tears pricking the corners of his eyes. It hearkens back to lonely groves and tearful reunions, trust extended and accepted. Perhaps it was meant to. “Very well.” His head bows, brushing a kiss against the base of Ian’s ribs. “Tell me if I ought to stop.”

“I will.”

That is reassurance enough for him to begin in earnest. His grip tightens, taking Ian between his palms, skin bunching between his fingers. Ian is a different beauty from this angle, longer than his short stature might lead one to believe. Soft in the places he covets most. Solas reminds himself of how his heartbeat feels against his lips, hammering fast behind his ribs as the first quiet sigh slips between his teeth. He marks all the places upon him the sun has not yet kissed, pale skin shining pink where his teeth meet Ian’s flesh, pulling until he hisses with pleasure and pain. Where impossible freckles dust Ian’s sides he plants gentle kisses that ease small, delighted sounds from him.

He pauses, nose dipping against the hollow of his hip, his own breath hot upon his face. Bare hands settle against him, curling loosely across his shoulders. “Solas...” His name, spoken a second time, sounds sweeter upon his lips.

“Hm?”

“I didn’t--” He snorts, bemusement halting him, rather than discomfort. His belly spasms, pushing against Solas’ cheek. Laughter sends thrills through him more dangerous than his touch, a sound he had fallen for long before he knew. Ian breathes in, holding it a moment before he allows himself to speak again. “I didn’t ask you to stop.” There is pride in his voice, satisfied by his own remark, and joy, too, albeit tempered by his attempt to feign disappointment. His voice drops an octave, a low whisper above his ear. “Did I?”

Affection blossoms in the pit of Solas’ chest, rising up his spine, manifesting as a grin upon his face. He cannot help but hide it, face still buried against Ian. There is no hiding how his back flecks with gooseflesh, nor the sudden shiver that moves shoulders, steadied by Ian’s grip. The palms of his hands slide down to Ian’s thighs, fingers spreading to grip as much of them as his hands can hold. “My mistake,” he murmurs, punctuating the apology with a penitent peck to where Ian’s hips meet his legs. “Allow me to make it up to you.”

[chnat0wn]

Black Irises

Relationship: Alfie Solomons/Original Female Character

02. The Jewelry Store

Deborah was sitting in front of the vanity mirror for half an hour. Pointlessly staring at her own reflection, from time to time she looked at the products in front of her. She didn't even know where to start. On the day of the banquet, when she regained consciousness and the guests went home, Biagio blurted out everything that troubled him during the party. He explained Deborah again, where she belonged. And that she had no right to look at other men for so long. Deborah wondered what would happen if she asked Ada Shelby for help. Would Peaky Blinders agree to save her from oppression. She considered it, but the intentions were gone faster than they appeared. For several important reasons - Thomas Shelby won't start a personal war with the Sicilian gang. Besides, Deborah felt she had to do it herself.

She grabbed a pack of powdered pigment. She usually combined it with vaseline so it would stick to her face. And this time, as always, she dipped the fingertip in the prepared mixture, then spread the substance over the appropriate area. Thanks to this, she was able to cover enough of the purple bruise that her eye adorned. Then she applied the powder until the mark completely disappeared under the make-up layer.

Biagio appeared in the bedroom. She didn't hear his footsteps, and she saw his reflection in the mirror. He stood behind her, placed his hands on her shoulders and stroked her arm. Deborah held back a involuntary grimace. She was too sore to allow herself a replay. Biagio leaned forward and kissed her cheek.

“It doesn't please me, believe.” he spoke and stroked Deborah's hair. She wanted him to leave. Nothing more. “But you deserved to be punished. I think you agree with me.” he raised an eyebrow. Deborah swallowed hard. Everything he said was cruelly wrong. She knew well how Biagio reacted to causing her pain. He was delighted. 

“I think so too.” she replied blankly. She looked up at their mirror image and refrained from clenching her jaw.

“You think what?”

“That I deserved it.” she replied and looked back, raising her head to look at his face. Biagio smiled and stroked her cheek. Shortly thereafter, he left the bedroom, and Deborah remained in place, staring into one, insignificant point. In such situations, she always wondered what she did to be punished this way. Why God decided to send her a monster like Biagio. She'd been thinking about Alfie since yesterday. And whenever she recalled a picture of him, she felt a familiar, pleasurable warmth in her stomach, which she hadn't experienced for a very long time. She lowered her eyelids and took a deep, uneven breath.

  *

Eleven years earlier.

   “Deborah!” her mother's voice effectively pulled her out of bed. She barely opened her eyes, didn't manage to brush her hair or get dressed. She took the quilt away from her body and ran toward the exit from her room. She nearly collided with the frame, but eventually made it.

“Deborah!”

“I’m coming!” she responded, running down the stairs. She adjusted the straps of the nightgown, which slipped loosely from her shoulder. She looked around. Her mother probably came back to the kitchen, so Deborah went in that direction. She brushed her hair behind her ears, though a single strand fell on her forehead. She made a few attempts to blow it away, but each of it ended in the same failure.

Her mother looked at her, then opened her eyes wider.

“For God's sake, put something on!” she whined, shaking her head. “You're wandering around in your underwear only...”

“It's not underwear, mum.” she frowned and smiled, grabbing an apple from kitchen worktop. “It's a... pyjama.” she added in her defense and looked down at herself. She shrugged, then looked back at her mother. The woman once again shook her head, this time with a distinct disapproval. She went back to cutting the remaining apples in slices. Fruit present on the kitchen countertop heralded apple pie - sweet specialty of Margaret Rouby.

Deborah bit into an apple, thanks to which she could release her hands. This, in turn, allowed her to get rid of her hair from her face once again. She had no idea why it kept getting into her mouth.

Involuntarily, she went to the dining room. If Margaret called her before, it was probably for the breakfast. The kitchen was more a place of work than the room where meals were eaten. That is why the family usually gathered in the dining room. Driven to this room, Deborah met George - their extremely bored cat. He discracted her attention enough that she couldn't hear the conversation in the dining room. She found out about the presence of some strangers when she put the cat on the floor and looked up. There were three men in the dining room - her father, a local Jewish jeweler and a young man, probably his son.

She stopped in the entrance to the room, paralyzed by confusion. Indeed, what she was wearing was more like underwear. Airy nightgown, undoubtedly transparent in this light. Besides, Deborah hadn't used a hairbrush yet, and there was an apple in her mouth. She took out it immediately and wiped her lips with the back of her hand when she felt the flowing saliva in the corners of her mouth.

The young man had been watching her from the very beginning. Deborah decided to do the same. She doubted that she would be able to look away from the face that should be in the museum of art. She didn't think she would ever describe a man as beautiful, but in this case she didn't see any other option. Because this man had a clear, almost flawless complexion. His face had rather mild features, but Deborah was able to see the outline of cheekbones and jawline. She even admired his shapely, slender nose and pink, plump lips. His eyes were the perfect complement to the whole - they were piercing Deborah’s silhouette throughout, wandered on her face and body. He watched her girlish curves, but he didn't lay his eyes upon there for too long. He was most interested in her face. Deborah wondered if he was seeing her the way she was seeing him - whether he thinks she is that beautiful, though at the beginning she rejected the option that anyone could match him.

Deborah heard a grunt. She looked away from the boy and glanced at her father. He was staring at her with a slight embarrassment, while the jeweler gazed at her face, curious about her next moves.

“Uh, good morning.” she muttered out and quickly withdrew from the dining room. For some reason, she looked back the last time. A beautiful boy followed her with his eyes until he was reprimanded by his father.

Deborah returned to the kitchen. Her face burned, and her cheeks took on the color of ripe raspberries.

“Why didn't you tell me? Why didn't you tell me about...” she pointed towards the dining room. “...them!” she asked reproachfully. She was aware that none of the men would quickly forget that situation. She doubted that she will get rid of it from her own memory. She has not felt such embarrassment for a long time.

“I didn’t?” Margaret raised her eyebrows, smiling in amusement. She shrugged. “I forgot.” she replied, and when Deborah let out a deep sigh, Margaret laughed loudly.

Deborah couldn't get rid of the young man's image out of her head. She couldn't get rid of the expression that accompanied him when he watched her. She couldn't decide what color his eyes were. Green or maybe gray? Or blue even?

“Who are they? I have the right to know, haven't I?” she said after some thought. Margaret was just kneading the dough. She rubbed her forehead with the back of her hand, leaving some flour there. Deborah went to her and wiped the white powder from her face.

“Don't you know Mr Solomons?” she glanced at her daughter and raised her eyebrows significantly. Deborah knew only that he ran a jewelry store. She was never too much interested in people whom she didn't have much contact with. “He came with his boy today. Alfie, I think.” she added. “This kid must learn everything from him. He'll probably take over his father's business.”

“Mphm...” Deborah replied only, plunging in her own thoughts. She repeated, curious how the name of this beautiful man would sound in her mouth. “Alfie.”

  *

  Deborah bit her lip, standing in front of the jewelry store. Carrying out everyday affairs didn't usually cause her problems. However, the thought of what happened a few days ago, during the unlucky morning, filled her with an unusual nervousness. Besides, from the moment she saw Alfie Solomons, she couldn't stop thinking about him. Whenever she closed her eyes, she could see his face - a delightful mouth and a nose that she liked so much.

She took a deep breath and moved forward. She pushed a heavy door, then walked deeper into the store, looking around with curiosity.  Mr Solomons appeared behind the counter. Instead of casting her confused or amused look, he smiled warmly, which she was grateful for.

“Good morning.” she was the first to say, approaching the counter.

“Good morning, Deborah.” Elder Solomons adjusted the glasses on his nose. “How can I help you?”

Deborah reached into the pocket of her dress and pulled out a necklace wrapped in a paper. She crumpled the paper and slipped it back into her pocket, then shifted the jewelry across the counter, toward Solomons. The man picked up necklace and looked at it.

“And what's the problem?” he asked, apparently not noticing any mistake he would have to fix. Indeed, the necklace didn't have any perceived defect. Except for what Deborah noticed after trying it on herself.

“It is too long for me.” she replied right after she realized that the question was addressed to her. “Mum said you can do something with it.”

Mr Solomons widened his friendly smile and nodded slowly. He even opened his mouth to say something, when another client turned his attention. Solomons glanced at him, nodded knowingly, and returned his eyes to Deborah.

“There is a room... my studio.” he turned not completely and pointed to the curtain behind his back. “You will find someone who can repair it there. And let me take care of this client, do you mind?”

“Not at all.” she smiled briefly and entered behind the counter. She glanced once more at the man, and when he smiled at her again, she crossed the next door more confidently. She didn't immediately find the room Mr Solomons mentioned. For this purpose, she had to go through a dark corridor from which individual rooms were leading. Most of them were empty, so Deborah naturally wondered what could they be used for. Soon, she reached the right room, from which a warm yellow light poured. She looked in. All she could see were the back of the man sitting at the table in the middle of the room. She cleared her throat. The man straightened up and looked over his shoulder. Deborah held her breath, feeling herself blushing. The boy's plump lips curved in a strange smile.

“Uhm...” Deborah hesitated, but eventually entered the room. She lifted the necklace to the right height so he could see the object.

Alfie raised his eyebrow questioningly. Deborah couldn't explain the irresistible urge to touch his face. It was perfect even when irregularly spaced lighting cast shadows on it, distorting beautiful features.

“Your father said I'll find someone here. Someone who can fix this. And it happen to be you, of course...” she added and made some uncertain steps toward the table. Alfie held out his hand, and she handed him the necklace. He looked at it in the same way as the older Solomons. He frowned, and Deborah repeated his gesture. For a moment she wondered if Alfie could speak at all.

“Fix this...” he repeated thoughtfully. Deborah hadn't thought before about how his voice sounded. But in some way she predicted the soft, warm timbre he actually had. Alfie looked up at her. “But what exactly?” he raised his eyebrows.

“It is too long.” she said again.

“Alright.” he nodded understandingly. He reached under the table and pulled out a small toolbox. Then he glanced at Deborah and stared at her for couple of minutes. “Sit there, eh?”

Deborah looked around unhurriedly, then took a chair from the opposite side of the table. Before she focused on Alfie's work, she examined the room closely. There were several shelves, a mass of crates and a fireplace, thanks to which the room was pleasantly warm. Only after that she began to follow Alfie's agile finger movements. Initially, he moved the next eyelets of the necklace between his fingertips, as if trying to find the right point.

“How much ‘too long’?” he asked suddenly, not taking his eyes off the current job. He frowned in concentration, and Deborah could admit that she would look at this view for the rest of her life.

She pointed to the spot on her own cleavage. It was almost between her breasts. Alfie took a deep breath, blinked several times and looked up at Deborah's face.

“And how short is it supposed to be?” he asked after a moment. Deborah moved her finger a little higher, stopping it in the hollow between her collarbones. “Right.” he gasped.

Alfie returned to his previous actions. He glanced at the available toolbox, and when he found the right item, Deborah squeaked involuntarily. The view of something that resembled a small jaws caused her an unconditional reaction.

“What ‘s it?” Alfie asked, unmoved.

“This necklace is very precious to me.” she hurried with explanations. “I got it a few months ago. For my eighteenth birthday.”

“It ‘s lovely.” Alfie nodded in appreciation. “It'll come back to you, yeah? In one piece.” he assured and smiled with a little amusement. Deborah let out a theatrical sigh and wiped her forehead with the back of her hand. Alfie laughed softly, even if he didn't intend to.

Deborah was quiet as Alfie was divesting her necklace of three eyelets. He hesitated over the fourth, but eventually incised it with a more precise tool. Then he grabbed the jewelry in another tool, got up and went to the fireplace. Deborah watched his back again, as well as any other possible movements. She didn't see anything specific. Alfie crouched on the stone floor, grabbed a piece of thick material, maybe a felt, and he made several more moves. Then he put the necklace in some vessel next to him, which was filled with water. Contact with the cool liquid caused a quiet hiss. Immediately afterwards, Alfie returned to the table, wiping the jewelry with another piece of cloth.

“Let's check how it looks on you, yeah?” he smiled and stood behind Deborah.

She grasped her hair and lifted it so Alfie could wrap the necklace around her neck and fasten it on her scruff. When he took his hands away, Deborah let go of her hair. She moved her hand to the place where the pendant should be. She found it in the hollow between her collarbones.

“Shit. It's perfect.” she announced with a slight disbelief. She didn't think that someone could do such a job, make such accurate measurements with the help of the sense of sight only. “Thank you.” she looked up at him. Alfie smiled, folding his hands behind his back.

“Alfred.”

They both looked towards the entrance, where the voice came from. Mr Solomons stood there, looking at this two. Deborah rose sharply from the table, Alfie retreating to a safe distance. However, his father was still looking at them with dissatisfaction. Deborah felt strange with the fact that less than an hour ago, Mr Solomons was smiling warmly at her.

  *

Now.

    Deborah looked instantly at Biagio. Probably because he forced her to, hitting the bottom of the glass to the table top in the dining room. He was never aware of his strength, so the glass shattered in his hand. Another Italian curse word left his lips when the sleeve of the white shirt became red. Unmoved, Deborah raised her glass to her lips and took a sip of a sweet drink.

“Edith!” he yelled and wrapped his fingers around his wrist to stop the bleeding. The bleeding wasn't that abundant to cause so much panic. Deborah snorted under her breath at the thought of how powerful Biagio thought he was, and how he behaved in such prosaic situations.

The summoned servant rushed to help. Benjamin watched everything, but in no way expressed fear or anxiety. He was simply interested in a new experience, an event he never seen before. He tilted his head to the side, watching how the situation would unfold with fascination. Biagio went to the kitchen, led by Edith. The poor woman rolled her eyes - she couldn't understand such a reaction of an adult man either. Benjamin sighed heavily and returned to the food, though now it was more like pecking in the plate.

“What is it, Benny?” Deborah glanced at him, raising her eyebrow.

“Will he die?” he asked.

“No, of course not. You don't have to worry about it.”

“I’m not worried, mum.”

What does that mean? she thought. When he started eating again, Deborah was staring at him without the same smile as before. She wondered about the genesis of these thoughts in her little boy's head. She never thought that he could be different from the rest of the children. But he was in some way. Sometimes he seemed extremely intelligent to her, sensitive, maybe a bit too mature for his age. He knew .

Biagio returned to the dining room with a dressing on his palm.

“Don't think that you will get away with it.” he spoke. Deborah stopped eating and looked at him. She wasn't even surprised. But she was tired of his constant threats. “You've been so absent-minded lately. Since that faint. You are a little different.” he stated, shaking his head. “Maybe you should see the doctor.”

“What for?” she asked blankly.

Biagio sighed heavily and grabbed the knife. He drove the blade into the meat on his plate. Then he leaned back in his chair and put his eyes at Deborah.

“You must do something for me.” he said after a long silence. Deborah looked at him. “I have a meeting and I have to be in other place then. And Mr Solomons is supposedly too busy...”

“So from now on I'm involved in your business? How lovely.” she smiled artificially.

“You're the only person around who can arrange it for me. And watch your mouth.” he said warningly. “You just have to hand me over the papers. You won't understand any of them anyway. I will inform him that you'll come.”

“Sure.” Deborah replied. She took a deep breath and closed her eyes. Since the last meeting with Alfie ended with a minor catastrophe, she was afraid that this time it will not be any different.